


Send Up a Signal (that everything's fine)

by coalitiongirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, F/F, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 117,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coalitiongirl/pseuds/coalitiongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan is catapulted into stardom, the newest lead actress on a sanitized show featuring modern fairytales. Regina Mills is a long-undermined star with a chip on her shoulder and a thousand reasons why she's invested. Naturally, they loathe each other on sight.</p><p>Their characters' fanbases, however, have other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS THE MOST META TO EVER META. amycarey would like me to market this as "dystopian Down the Rabbit Hole," which is a worryingly close description (and this is probably all DtRH's fault in the first place). Much love to my dumpster ladies for coaxing this story out of me and working through the tough stuff, and to JS in particular for faithfully screencapping every headcanon along the way in the hopes that I would turn it into a fic. Victory is yours, JS. ~~Victory Rose, however, may take a bit more than that.~~
> 
> So as you can tell from the summary, we're going with the characters all being cast and crew on OUAT. Because of that, the characters may have different names (and in some cases, as with our Henry stand-in, neither actor nor character will share his name). It's still the same canon unless otherwise indicated! You'll pick it up as we go along.
> 
> And two final notes: 1) this is not meant to be RPF. You'll see from the start that these are clearly Emma and Regina, not Jen and Lana, and I'm not making any specific commentary on what has actually happened on the show or what might have gone on bts. This is all just very meta fiction.  
> and 2) **Henry is not Emma's biological son in this.** I didn't want to take that piece of Emma away from her and remove the entire adoption storyline, but it seemed a bit too neat to have Henry and Jamie reflect each other so neatly. No worries, Henry and Emma will still develop a relationship, but without the biological aspect.

**in which she’s hauled into stardom (or probably not).**

 

“She’s _perfect_ ,” Mr. Gold says, not for the first time today. “This is your Rose Turner.” He gestures at Emma again and Emma shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the man and woman sitting at the table across the room. “Isn’t she Disney Princess material?” 

 

The man and woman keep staring. Emma manages a nervous smile. “Should I…Do you want me to read the lines again?” Her scene partner is a woman named Mary Margaret, one she vaguely recognizes from that soap opera that her old roommate was into. Mary Margaret Blanchard has played kid sisters and the star’s best friend in dozens of minor roles, and now she’s hit her slightly bigger break, Emma guesses. 

 

Emma’s big break is happening right now, in this room. Maybe. If Gold knows what he’s talking about and the woman eyeing at her like a piece of meat is actually impressed. "No experience?" she demands, disapproving. 

 

Emma straightens. "I...um...I do entertainment at kids' birthday parties a lot. That's how Mr. Gold found me, actually." One minute she'd been doing her best Rapunzel imitation, and the next, some uncle of the birthday kid had been snapping photos of her and asking for head shots. She'd never really expected to have any legitimate acting roles, let alone being catapulted to maybe-lead of some new Disney tie-in. 

 

"Everyone has to start somewhere," the man beside the woman booms. "Our girls did diaper commercials, but that doesn't mean we aren't open to new talent." There's something shrewd in his eyes when he suggests that. "Not at all."

 

The woman nods, grasping whatever Emma had missed. "Very well," she says suddenly. "You'll be hearing back from us soon."

 

Mary Margaret's brow furrows. "You don't want her to read with Regina?" Emma had already read with some kid and with Mary Margaret, and she squeezes the script and prepares for what must be Rose's scenes with Victoria Stone, the Evil Queen. 

 

But the woman shakes her head. "I don't have all day," she says, sounding irritated. "If Regina can't be on time when she's called in, she won't get special treatment."

 

"Henry—" Mary Margaret starts. 

 

"Henry isn't her job," the woman says firmly, but she raises her chin with what seems like pride and says, "Regina should be perfectly competent. If we choose this girl and there are issues, then perhaps it's time we...revisited Regina." 

 

Mary Margaret looks appalled and frightened at once. Emma knows only vaguely of Regina Mills, another child actress all grown up. There had been some scandal about a decade ago, an almost-marriage to a much older man, and she’d gone off the map around then for a while. Beyond that, Emma's only heard of her being critically praised in a few films where she plays scheming maids or gold-digger love interests. She'd been typecast long ago, and the Evil Queen is a perfect fit, if a lot larger a role than anything she's done in the past ten years since her fall from grace. 

 

Victoria Stone, less so, but Emma suspects that with someone like Regina Mills as the face behind her, the audience will be only too happy to root for Rose. 

 

Gold escorts her out and she still hasn't caught the producers' names, so she checks up the whole production on IMDB later that day. _Cora Mills and Leo Blanchard_ , read the names of the writers/producers, and Emma groans, sliding her hand down into her hands. 

 

Of course. This is some family production, and she's the token "See! It's not nepotism!" recruit. This is all a little too good to be true, and loners with no family or support who are swiftly eating through their savings just to manage in this city shouldn’t expect–

 

– _Well_. There’s no way that she’s going to get that callback, anyway. Gold is just one co-producer and doesn’t call the shots, and Cora Mills hadn’t even deigned for her to film with her own daughter. This is just a standard Hollywood story that she’s seen plenty of coworkers experience.

 

She stares at the pilot script and wonders why she _cares_. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’d been eighteen when she’d had to give up her own baby because she’d been incapable of raising him. And playing Rose Turner– playing this woman who, fairytales aside, gets a knock at her door and finds a son grinning behind it– it wakes up all the longing that she's supposed to be over by now.

 

She almost shoves the script in the garbage, but rethinks it and sticks it into a drawer instead. Who knows, right?

 

* * *

 

**in which regina mills is hella talented and so… (you’ll see).**

 

She gets the callback. She gets the _role_ , and suddenly she’s packing up her tiny apartment and flying to some filming studios in Maine to shoot the pilot. Mary Margaret is calling her daily, thrilled to have a friend on set, and Emma grins and her stomach twists and she doesn’t know if she’s excited or terrified. 

 

On the flight to Maine, she picks a movie that she knows Regina Mills had earned some buzz for and she’s entranced from the start. She still hasn’t met the woman, but she remembers a vague crush on her back when she’d been a Disney Channel brat. And she’s grown up, well…

 

Emma licks her lips and tries her best to watch Regina’s method instead. She has a way of stealing every scene, capturing your eye and refusing to surrender it. Emma has no idea how she manages to transform a stock character into the only one in the whole shitty movie worth watching, but she’s breathless by the end of the film with the awareness that this is someone she’s actually going to be working with.

 

She’s going to be _filming scenes_ with _Regina Mills_. 

 

She frantically watches her whole recent filmography over the rest of the day as she settles in. “She’s very good,” Mary Margaret says when they do dinner later that evening in a restaurant Emma absolutely cannot afford. “She hates me, but she’s very good.” She stabs mournfully at her steak. “We’re lucky she got the role.” 

 

“Got the role,” Emma repeats, arching an eyebrow. “I’m not trying to be rude, but…well…” 

 

“Our parents,” Mary Margaret agrees. “I know what it looks like, but my dad actually wrote the role of Snow White around me.” She beams for a moment. “He still calls me his little princess, you know? And…I mean, I have the acting background,” she says hastily. “I’m not taking a role from anyone.” 

 

“Right, of course,” Emma says, keeping her mouth shut on any other opinions she might have on that. Mary Margaret is sweet and considers her a friend already, and Emma’s happy for her if things like this just…fall into her lap. “And Cora Mills wrote the villain for Regina?” 

 

Mary Margaret shakes her head. “Oh, no, Cora didn’t even want her to audition. But Gold got Regina a script and an audition without her realizing, and by then, it was too late. Regina was…” She shivers. “Regina was perfect for the role, and even her mom knew that she had no choice. I can’t believe Regina even agreed to do TV, really,” Mary Margaret says thoughtfully. “I’d have thought it was beneath her. She’s so…” Her voice trails off.

 

“So?” Emma repeats.

 

Mary Margaret bites her lip. “You’ll see.” 

 

* * *

 

**in which emma gains an enemy (and maybe an ally).**

 

The first time Emma Swan meets Regina Mills, she’s getting out of a van that had transported her to the mansion where she’s supposed to film her very first pilot scene. Regina is dressed in a grey dress that hugs her hips and her makeup is soft and dark and approachable, and Emma is so flustered that she blurts out, “Hi,” and does this terrible awkward wave. 

 

Regina drags her eyes to Emma’s hand, then up and down her body for so long that Emma’s about to say something– jokingly, of course, because she’s uncomfortable but not quite ready to pick a fight– when Regina curls her upper lip and says, “She won’t do,” and storms off to the director with fire in her eyes. 

 

“I think she likes you,” Mary Margaret says brightly.

 

Emma watches the director gesture to her, and Regina shakes her head and goes on, ticking off _something_ with her hand. She’s probably still pissed about missing the chemistry reads and Emma doesn’t really have any background to prove herself on, and maybe this has all been a horrible mistake. 

 

She’s already beginning to get the sense that– whatever conflict Regina might have with her mother– this is _her_ turf now, and if she deems Emma unfit, Emma’s going to go. And sure enough, the director is nodding now, glancing Emma’s way with the kind of familiar trepidation that Emma knows intimately as a rejected foster kid, and Emma can feel her stomach bottom out in response.

 

There are times when Emma is all confrontation, would gladly shout it out with Regina– and Regina, she’s pretty sure, would shout back until they’re both furious and steaming with loathing. Today, though, she’s already ready to give up. She mumbles something to Mary Margaret and ducks back into the van, shoving her food and change of clothes into her bag and starts searching for flights back to LA. And tries really, really hard not to cry with frustration about this whole screwed up situation.

 

“Oh, dear, there’s no reason to be so childish,” comes a sharp voice from the window. Emma jerks up. Cora Mills is smiling at her from outside the van, thin-lipped with dangerous eyes. “If you’re going to go off in a snit every time Regina acts out, you’re going to have to work weekends, too.”

 

“I–“ Emma manages. “I just thought that…” 

 

“You’re new,” Cora acknowledges. “So you don’t know how little patience I have for actor shenanigans. Regina isn’t in control here. _I_ am. And if she gives you any more trouble, you come to me, understood?” She smiles again, this time a little less terrifying, and Emma smiles back hesitantly. 

 

She might not have won over the daughter, but the mother seems to grasp her daughter and is more than happy to help. “Get out there, Miss Swan,” Cora says encouragingly. “Show them why you earned this role.” 

 

Emma bobs her head and _tries._ She’s an actress, right? She can walk out onto that set and flash a smile and pretend that she doesn’t want to jump into the ocean instead. Or push Regina into the ocean, whatever.

 

Instead, she steps into the mansion and glares at Regina like a stubborn child and Regina gives her an equally mature stink-eye. And then the cameras roll and Regina just…

 

_Changes._

 

Her scowl fades and is replaced with soft, inquisitive eyes as she passes Emma a cup of cider, and Emma’s so taken aback that she stumbles over her first line as Regina smiles warmly and leads her to Victoria’s study. 

 

“ _I’m sorry he dragged you out of your life. I really don’t know what’s gotten into him_ ,” she says, and there are layers upon layers, vulnerability and curiosity mingling as she goes through Victoria’s lines. 

 

And with Regina opposite her, so _genuine_ in her acting, Emma can feel Rose rising to her surface and responding. Rose is nervous and eager to appease her birth son’s mother, and when she does leave, it’s with the reluctance to get attached even more. Emma _knows_ Rose. Emma feels like her in this moment, cameras trained on both of them and Regina leaving her unsteady on her feet as Victoria.

 

When Emma walks past Regina and Regina closes the door behind them as the director shouts, “Cut!” she turns, grinning with victory, to face Regina. 

 

“That was–“ Emma stops. Regina is glaring at her again, as hostile as she’d been before the cameras had rolled. “Oh, you know what?” she says, annoyed. “Fuck you.” 

 

“That was quite the zinger, Miss Swan,” Regina deadpans. “Shame they don’t have you writing our snappy dialogue.”

 

“They don’t need me to feed them our lines. They already have the perfect model for the Evil Queen,” Emma says sweetly, and Regina’s eyebrows arch, amused.

 

“No wonder Gold wanted you for Rose.” It sounds like an insult that Emma can’t parse, and her brow furrows. Regina mentions Rose with real contempt, and Emma starts, “Look, if you have some kind of–“ 

 

Regina walks away mid-sentence, getting back in position for the next take. _For fuck’s sake._

 

Before they can start again, Cora is breezing over to them. She mutters something along the way that has Regina quickening her pace, her gaze baleful as she turns back to watch Emma, and Emma grinds her teeth together and puts on a smile for Cora. “Very evocative,” Cora says approvingly, and Emma meets Regina’s eyes again with renewed defiance.

 

* * *

 

**in which there is a rat in the bathroom.**

 

Ruby’s the one to suggest drinks, and Emma suspects that Regina only agrees because she’s so taken aback at the idea that anyone would invite her out at all. She’s a _nightmare_ on set, still as standoffish and obnoxious as she’d been that first day. 

 

On Emma’s second day of filming, she hadn’t even had scenes with her– Regina had been over on Stage Seven with Mary Margaret and David and Emma had been doing a scene inside a restaurant with a guest star. And yet somehow, her PA had gone to get her coffee and come back with something that had smelled foul and had been– worst of all– _decaffeinated_. 

 

She hadn’t said anything at first– she’s fouled up her fair share of coffee orders over the years– but she’d sent him out for another coffee the next day and he’d said, “Ms. Mills told me that you preferred a combination of herbal blends. She gave me a very specific recipe.” 

 

_Of course she did_. “And caffeine…?” she prods gently.

 

“It doesn’t give you migraines?” He looks confused. 

 

Regina wants a war? Well, Emma’s never been very good at backing down. And is very good at escalating things. So she breaks into Regina’s trailer that night and smashes all her mirrors. 

 

“Getting in character?” she’d asked sweetly when Regina had stormed out of there the next morning, glass still crunching against her shoes.

 

Regina had rounded on her with all the fire of Victoria Stone. “You don’t want to play this little Mean Girls game with me, you absolute _imbecile_. Because it’s childish and petty.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And because I’ll _win_.” She leans in, close enough to kiss, and Emma is breathless and _challenge accepted_ and kind of secretly might love this a little bit. Sharing scenes with Regina Mills is only half as exhilarating as sharing space with her in her natural state, and Emma’s caught between absolute frustration and the urge to shove her a little more and then lurch forward and–

 

She stops herself, Regina's pupils still dilated with fury as she breathes raggedly, and Ruby walks past and says, “Hey, you two good for drinks later?” 

 

So that’s how they wind up doing shots with Mary Margaret and Ruby in some dive a mile away from the studio. Regina has her legs crossed and keeps looking around like she thinks someone might kill them, and Ruby laughs. “Lighten up, Evil Queen.” 

 

Mary Margaret chortles loudly at the nickname. She must already be half-gone, because she’s usually more cautious around Regina, tiptoeing as though anything might set her off. (Anything might.)

 

Regina sighs at them both. “So juvenile. I suppose it’s better than ‘Gina,’ though.”

 

“Gina!” Emma repeats, cackling. “You could be a Gina. Reggie?” She’s a little buzzed already, but maybe it’s just that it’s loud and warm in here and her head is aching.

 

“I can get you blacklisted from every network in this country,” Regina snarls. She’s extra snarly when she’s had too much to drink. Emma had thought she might mellow out. Alas, no. “You’ll be playing someone’s mom on Degrassi for the rest of your career if you don’t control yourself, Swan.” 

 

“No, I won’t. Your mom _likes_ me.” For some incomprehensible reason, Cora _does_. She’s made it clear that Emma will have work even if this pilot isn’t picked up, and if she didn’t spend so much time provoking Regina by favoring Emma, Emma might even rub that in Regina’s face right now. 

 

As it is, Regina is staring at her like she’s been slapped, and Emma squirms in place and says, “Where’s the bathroom! I’m going to find the bathroom.” She doesn’t ask anyone to come, but Regina stands up and says, “I’m not staying at the table with _them_ ,” and jerks her hand toward Mary Margaret.

 

“I thought you hated me most,” Emma huffs, a little offended. Like, it’d be one thing to come in second place to Mr. Gold or Cora, but to be second-tier enemy after one of the sweetest people in the universe? She needs to up her game.

 

Regina scowls at her. “I hate everyone. And you, with your…” She waves her hand. “With the princess hair and the big break and rags-to-riches bullshit narrative.”

 

“You like my hair?” Emma says, distracted.

 

“I _hate_ it,” Regina snarls. “I hate everything about you. But at least you fight back. Mary Margaret just crumples like a…like a bad banana."

 

“Bad _apple_ ,” Emma corrects her, and Regina snickers. “…Reggie.” 

 

“Fuck _off_.” Regina shoves her and Emma laughs too loudly as she pushes the bathroom door open. Her head is pounding and she might be a little buzzed, and Regina’s makeup is smudged around her eyes and she’s infuriatingly beautiful. “I am not going into that cockroach pit,” Regina informs her.

 

“Snob,” Emma mutters. Regina scoffs and stalks in behind her.

 

Away from dim lights and loud crowds, the sounds of the bathroom are deafening. Emma groans and holds onto her head. “Too bright. Much too bright.” 

 

Regina is wincing, too, and Emma hurries to the bathroom stalls to make her escape.

 

When she emerges, it’s to Regina standing in the middle of the room, engaged in a fierce staring contest with a rat. “Oh, my god. Get that–“ She reaches for a broom haphazard in the corner and swings it at the rodent. Regina trips, lacking her usual grace in this state, and a series of Spanish curses roll off her tongue.

 

The rat makes a mad dash for the radiator and Emma’s laughing helplessly as Regina takes off her heel and hurls it at the rat in a fury. It skitters into the radiator and vanishes and Regina snaps, “If my foot touches this filthy floor, Miss Swan–“

 

Emma retrieves the shoe, still laughing, and there’s a moment when she forgets that they loathe each other, that this is _Regina Mills_ who is so far beyond her and knows it, that she’s so buzzed that she can barely even manage to ease the shoe onto Regina’s foot. (Why is she easing it onto her foot?)

 

Regina chokes a little when she does it. It might be because Emma’s tracing a path up Regina’s foot to her leg. Emma retracts her finger. 

 

“You know,” she says, and it’s all kind of fuzzy now, even Regina’s dark eyes like brown-gold pinpoints in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. “I gave up a kid for a adoption when I was around Rose’s age on the show. And I was…poor, and I didn’t have any family or support…and I was so scared. And…I don’t know. She’s important.” 

 

“She’s pushy and entitled to something she surrendered a long time ago,” Regina says, the words still coming out harsh and stark. “She’s a menace. And so are you.”

 

And she stalks out of the bathroom, their feud reinvigorated in full, and Emma blinks after her and fishes in her bag for some ibuprofen.

 

* * *

 

**in which she might have picked the wrong ally (or enemy, for that matter).**

 

The thing is, the pilot is really, _really_ good. The script is amazing and Emma watches awestruck as some of the dailies come out and it’s _her_ onscreen but not quite. She swaggers a little more as Rose, plays up the confident bail bondswoman and the uncertain orphan, but really, the most unrealistic bit is from the early scenes with Regina where there’s no sign that Victoria and Rose loathe each other. _Acting._

 

The later scenes are stronger for it, the two of them too close, spitting mad and too aggressive, and Cora sits back with a satisfied smile and says, “These are our showstoppers.” She gestures to four clips on the screen. “The Evil Queen’s arrival, Rose’s first scene, Rose and Jamie at the castle, and Rose and Victoria at the mansion. These are why people will keep watching.” She winks at them. “Don’t tell Leo _that_ , though. His darling little girl is the star of the show until the tracking comes in.” 

 

It’s just the four of them in Cora’s bungalow today– Regina and Emma, Jamaal and his mother, Marian. Jamaal is playing the role of Jamie Stone, the boy who’s supposed to be Rose's birth son, and Emma had squinted at him and said, _Really?_

 

_Emma._ Cora had patted her on the shoulder, nails digging into her skin. _Colorblind casting is all the rage these days._ Marian had rolled her eyes and Emma had liked her immediately.

 

“You see, this is a feminist show. We’re writing about women, for women.” Cora looks animated as she scrolls through the clips. “This is our Avengers, women who can be heroes and evil and something more complex. And if we can’t write diversity into our fantasy, what’s the purpose of fantasy at all?”

 

Regina is sitting very stiffly, looking sour at being in her mother’s vicinity at all, and her frown only seems to grow as Cora orates about feminism. “Mother, why are we here?” she demands. 

 

Cora looks startled. “Well, you’re here because I’m proud of you. All three of you,” she says, smiling warmly at Jamaal. “And James, you most of all. At your age, too. I see a bright future ahead for you.” 

 

“Jamaal,” Marian corrects her, and her own proud smile seems to have frozen on her face.

 

Cora’s lips purse together and part loudly. “Ah, yes, that.” She sits down in her computer chair, turning to face them. “Dear, you’re going to be making strides in the industry. And I worry.” 

 

“You worry,” Regina repeats. 

 

Cora smiles again. “James,” she repeats. “With a name like Jamaal, your options will be limited to more…ah, _urban_ choices in casting.” She says it delicately, and Emma sees Marian’s hands squeeze onto the bottom of her chair. “I’m looking out for you, darling. You know that even this role wouldn’t have been yours if we hadn’t already known Marian and seen that you could play a realistic son to someone like Emma.” 

 

“ _Mother–_ ” 

 

Jamaal is squirming in place, glancing up at Regina for guidance. Cora says, “I think you should consider a stage name. James Lee has a nice ring to it.” She’s unflappable, smiling at Marian and then Emma as though she thinks she has an ally in the room.

 

But Emma is watching Jamaal and Cora with narrowed eyes, spotting how _uncomfortable_ Jamaal looks at the suggestion. And he’d been cast first, hadn’t he? It hadn’t been about someone who could play Emma’s son, and Emma understands now why everyone else in this room is glaring at Cora.

 

“I like Jamaal Lee,” she volunteers, eyes narrowing. She earns a startled glance from Regina and another eyebrow arch like she had after their first scene. She ignores her and puts an arm on the back of Jamaal’s chair.

 

“Miss Swan,” Cora sighs, shaking her head. “You’re–“ 

 

Regina cuts her off with cool precision. “Much as I’m loath to agree with Miss Swan on anything, a decision like that should be between Jamaal and his mother. This pilot will be picked up. He’ll be one of a small pool of child actors with a network TV show. If he has trouble later on, he can change his name then.” She wraps a tight arm around Jamaal’s shoulders.

 

Jamaal looks up at them both with trusting eyes and Emma flushes in the face of a ten-year-old’s gratitude. Emma does not think about how they look right now, arms pressed to each other behind Jamaal, a united front. 

 

And maybe Regina Mills is an asshole diva actress, but she’s just as determined to protect the kid as Emma is. _One point in her favor._

 

* * *

 

**in which the pilot is picked up.**

 

There’s a party in LA for anyone who’s around, and Mary Margaret drags Emma to it and is so excited that she even starts chatting up Regina, who says, “I can’t believe I wasted a night on _you_.” 

 

“How is Henry?” Mary Margaret asks, bobbing on her heels. “Are you bringing him up to Maine with us?” 

 

“Well, I’m not keeping him here alone,” Regina says dryly. Emma squints at them, wondering if Regina Mills really has a _dog_. Maybe a dignified cat. Of course she named him a real-person name. 

 

Maybe Henry is a ten-foot python. You never know with Regina Mills. 

 

Emma dodges them to talk to Jamaal and Marian about filming. “He’ll be in school in Storybrooke,” Marian tells her. “Mostly tutors, but at least he’ll have one friend on set, right?” She grins and Emma nods, confused but cheerful enough to not care.

 

Cora clasps her hand and says, “I knew you had it in you, Emma.” She’s beaming and presiding over the room as though she’d been born for it, kissing cheeks and patting shoulders, and Leopold smiles genially at Cora’s courtiers and follows her lead. Emma ducks his attempt to kiss her cheek and escapes into a side room.

 

No, it’s a bathroom, the formal kind that Emma’s only seen at weddings with a couch across from the sinks and proper rooms for each toilet. She sinks down onto the couch, squinting across the room to reapply her lipstick in the mirror.

 

The door opens and Regina blinks at her. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she sighs, taking a seat beside her and easing off her heels to rub at her feet. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to _work_ with you.” 

 

“Channel all that loathing into your work,” Emma says. She’s flippant mostly because it _really_ pisses Regina off; and in fact, Regina is already steaming when she hurries on. “Rose and Victoria have a war to fight, huh?” 

 

Regina laughs, low and rumbling and seductive– _menacing_. And menacing. “You won’t stand a chance,” she says, slipping her heels back on, and she walks to the door with her hips swaying and a dangerous smile on her lips.

 

“We’ll see,” Emma calls after her, and she rests her head against the wall and grins to herself for absolutely no reason at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! Full disclosure- I have three chapters left to my current series and two very busy weeks coming up, so the next chapters may take a little extra time to come out. I wanted to make sure that I actually started writing this without two weeks to back out, lol, but I'll definitely be on a more regular schedule after Heartlines is complete.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! This story is now my main focus and I can promise you weekly updates- possibly even more often, depending on the week- until it's done. I've been hella grateful and intimidated by the reception last chapter got, and I hope this one doesn't disappoint!
> 
> Please be aware that there's some particularly nasty language in the last section.

**in which emma writes a MOM tweet.**

 

“Gold’s going to give you a proper speech about it, but I thought that you might want to hear it from a friend before he terrifies you,” Mary Margaret says, grinning. She’s in her Snow White gear in the seat next to Emma’s, their hairstylists working on them together. “Social media.” 

 

Emma squints at her. “Yeah, uh…I know what Twitter is. One time Gillian Anderson told me her favorite vodka mixers.” She hasn’t used it much, but she’d followed celebs and tweeted puppy pics from time to time.

 

Mary Margaret nods approvingly. “Just as long as you weren’t calling Harry Styles _dad_ , you should be able to keep that one up. But your publicity team is going to set you up with a new one, and Gold has some very severe restrictions on what we do and don’t tweet. See?” She passes her phone to Emma, and Emma spots the last tweet on her feed.

 

It’s Regina on the other side of the trailer, her makeup already applied as dark and sultry and stunning, and the caption is _Get ready for the Evil Queen… #HappilyEverAfter._ Emma tweets  _MOM_ in response and snickers at the way Regina twists in her chair to stare at Mary Margaret in horrified shock. She catches sight of the phone in Emma’s hand and Emma wiggles her eyebrows challengingly.  

 

Mary Margaret frowns in disapproval and deletes the tweet. “You and Gold will have plenty to talk about, I guess.”

 

They’re doing photoshoots today for the show publicity, and Emma’s a little relieved that she isn’t going to wear one of the Fairytale Land dresses and a little envious of them. Regina’s in particular accentuates every curve and drops jaws as she sashays onto the set, staring down Emma and Mary Margaret with a sneer. Mary Margaret bites her lip and says, “Regina, you look lovely.” 

 

Emma doesn’t say anything at all, still gaping at the vision in front of her. Regina smirks, trails a finger along Emma’s jacket like she’s actually the Evil Queen and has forgotten about personal space, and stalks off. 

 

But it’s actually later in the day when Emma really can’t take her eyes off Regina. She’s been changed to her Mayor Stone getup and she still commands the room, settling easily into the regal disdain of her character. Emma’s shoots are all casual, arms folded and heroic smirk planted onto her face, but Regina is sinuous and inviting and forbidding at once. 

 

Emma’s doing her final set with Jamaal while Regina poses with Mary Margaret, and the photographer says, “Just our last duo and we’re done for the day,” and gestures Regina over to Emma. “Nice,” he says. “Already in character.” Regina is glaring at Emma with even more fury than usual, and Emma curls her lip and glowers back. 

 

He doesn’t do much coaching, just lets them position themselves for the photos and calls out instructions like, “Smirk, smirk. Mayor Stone, not the Evil Queen, Ms. Mills. You're not trying to kill her.” 

 

“Yet,” Regina mutters, slinking forward. Emma gulps and pastes a baleful look onto her face. 

 

“Not so close!” the photographer cautions. “You’re rivals, not love interests.” Emma is distinctly red-faced after that. “Good, good. You’re naturals at this. Let’s try something a little different. Ms. Blanchard, Ms. Swan?” They’re both seated on the couch that Regina had been photographed on earlier, hopeless looks on their faces as Regina is propped up onto the back of it. She crosses her legs, fingers resting lightly on each of their shoulders, and Emma glances up once to see a sneer of ownership curling onto Regina’s face. 

 

“That’s all we need,” the photographer decides, looking very satisfied.

 

Regina slides down onto the couch between Emma and Mary Margaret. “I haven’t shot with Jamaal yet,” she says, brow furrowing.

 

“That wasn’t on the list,” the photographer says. “Just Ms. Swan.” 

 

Regina’s eyes darken and Emma edges away from her, watching with curiosity as Regina’s fingers twitch and clench together. “I’m playing his _mother_ ,” she says, her voice strained. “There must have been a mistake.” 

 

And she slides into that somewhere-in-between mode where she’s partially the terrifying Mayor Stone and partially the terrifying actress Regina Mills, standing up and stalking to the photographer. “I don’t care who gave you that list,” she snaps. “But when you’re photographing me, you answer to me, understood?” She tosses one glare across the room, where Leopold is engrossed in conversation with Gold, and then turns back to him. 

 

But the photographer is apologetic but helpless. “If I could, I would. But you only have Jamaal for a limited amount of time for the day, and he’s already gone. It’s all standard policy, Ms. Mills.”

 

Regina lets out a frustrated noise, whirling around and stalking out of the room, and Emma watches her go and feels vaguely guilty about things beyond her control.

 

* * *

 

**in which fans and actors alike get way too close.**

 

The mood of filming changes drastically once they’re green-lit. It helps that Regina and Mary Margaret already have fanbases of their own, but it’s the Disney connection that has their on-location filming of _Happily Ever After_ suddenly inundated with fans. 

 

Emma hangs back as the others sign autographs, certain that she isn’t a hot commodity for these fans, but Mary Margaret waves her over and soon she’s making conversation and taking photos, smiling awkwardly as she introduces herself. 

 

“So you’re…like…the mayor’s ex?” one of the fans asks, and Emma nearly chokes.

 

“No! No, definitely not. Victoria and Rose are not dating.” 

 

A big man leans forward, snapping photos of her as she stares wide-eyed at his rudeness. “But you share a son?” 

 

“No spoilers,” Regina says, sweeping past them. She’s been on her best behavior with the fans, laughing with them and posing for photos and patient like Emma’s never seen her before, so she’s surprised at the new irritated tic on her face as she speaks to the fan. “Miss Swan is a novice here, but I won’t have her leak our whole story.” 

 

The man brightens at the sight of her. “Regina! I’m Brian. We met on set for your last film?” 

 

“Yes, I remember.” Regina moves past him, ignoring the photos he’s still snapping of her. He watches her with adulation in gaze, a lovesick puppy that she won’t entertain, and Emma purses her lips in concern as his eyes narrow. 

 

“Another photo!” he insists, and Regina sighs and takes the photo before she excuses herself to talk to the director. 

 

Emma trails after her. “He followed you here from the set of a movie?” She might not know much about fanbases, but she knows a little something about obsessive and overly entitled men. 

 

“He’s never crossed any lines,” Regina concedes, peering back at the fans congregated at the edge of set. Brian grins at her, lips curling into something more like a leer. “I looked into a restraining order but there wasn’t enough to file one.” She glances there again, and Emma sees the worry on her face this time. 

 

“You'll be okay,” Emma says quietly, daring to put a hand on Regina’s arm.

 

Regina rounds on her, yanking her arm away. “Of course I will, you self-absorbed twit. I’m not worried about _myself_ ,” she snaps, and Emma recognizes the worry for what it is. Worry for the  _fans_ , she thinks, mostly younger girls with this enormous, possibly unstable man hovering in their midst.

 

For all Regina’s faults, she’s a pro with the fans, and Emma envies them and their easy rapport with Regina and doesn’t know who she envies more. “Can we have security watching him?” she ventures.

 

“We already do.” 

 

They’re filming an outdoor scene today, and Emma hoists up her prop chainsaw and holds it threateningly. “I’ll kick his ass,” she says, flexing her biceps.

 

Regina nearly– _nearly_ – smiles. “You’re impossible,” she sniffs, her eyes lingering on Emma’s arms. “I’m sure he’ll be very intimidated by your slab of plastic.” 

 

“Rude! This is real. I think?” She nearly turns it on before Regina yanks it out of her hands. She yanks it back, leaning in close, and borrows Rose’s line, positioning them for rehearsal. “ _And sister, you have no idea what I’m capable of_.” Regina stares at her, eyes dilated as she breathes hard, and Emma sucks in a breath and forgets the next line.

 

“Your move,” Regina says finally. 

 

Emma shifts in a hair closer, licking her lips as her eyes flicker down to the curve of Regina’s mouth.

 

“Your move. That’s the line.” Regina’s hand is light but insistent on her chest, and Emma stumbles backward, barely catching herself in time.

 

“ _Your move_ ,” she echoes, but her swagger looks more like a stagger as she walks away from Regina. 

 

* * *

 

**in which henry is not, in fact, a ten-foot python.**

 

For all Regina’s faults, she isn’t a bad scene partner, and Emma’s filming sessions with her are usually efficient and only a few takes at most. They’re five episodes in now, and Emma finds herself wandering in on her off days under the premise of ‘offering moral support to Mary Margaret to survive _you_ ,’ when Regina demands an explanation, but she quietly enjoys watching Regina. 

 

_Regina_ , who commands the room as the Evil Queen and wears dresses that have Emma gaping and swallowing hard. Emma is entranced by her presence and her acting skills, simultaneously resentful of how _good_ she is and raring for a fight when Regina does wander over to pick them with her. Cora might tout Emma as their big star, but Emma can already guess who their breakout character is going to be.

 

Which… _good_. Emma isn’t ready for that kind of attention, even if Regina is much too much of an ass to deserve that kind of acclaim. She rolls her eyes at herself and leans forward, watching Regina stalk off set to pick a fight with their director after one scene. _Much_ too much of an ass.

 

Today it’s both of them filming on location. Jamie is trapped in the mines with Jiminy Cricket, and it’s only Victoria and Rose working together that can save him. It’s a strong script, and Emma’s excited to play it, no matter how much of a ruckus Regina plans to make over the line  _He’s my son, too_. 

 

Emma _feels_ Rose, understands her and her conflict and yearns for it in places she can’t name. Regina hates her and it shows onscreen and off, the loathing even stronger than her hatred of Emma herself, and every moment Rose spends with Jamie is a source of more and more frustration for her.

 

Emma sighs, leaning back in her chair again, and blinking at a boy who walks past. “Hey, kid. You lost?” The crew brings their kids along sometimes, but rarely on location when there’s too much going on to keep track of stray children. Had this kid just walked on through the security?

 

But he plops down onto Regina’s chair and shrugs, lounging back into it. “Nah.” 

 

“Okay, now you’re _definitely_ lost.” She peers out into the distance. Regina thankfully hasn’t turned around yet. “Listen, kid, you don’t want Regina to catch you in her chair.” 

 

“You’re Emma, right?” he says. And then he grins at her and puts his feet up onto the chair. 

 

Emma nearly laughs. “I like you.” 

 

No one around them seems to care that the kid is there, not even the security guards talking nearby, and Emma is very confused about what’s happening here. The kid has pulled out a bag of chips and something sticky that gets onto the chair; and still, no one says a word. Jamaal even pokes his head out of one of the golf carts and runs over to him, the both of them thick as thieves, and Emma’s beginning to wonder if there’s a joke here she’s missing. 

 

And then Regina emerges from where she’s been arguing with the director, her face hard and pinched with irritation. She crosses the road and Emma holds her breath, eyeing the sticky mess on the chair. “Last chance, kid.” 

 

But Regina  _melts_. 

 

Emma gapes in amazement as the other woman barely spares a glare at her before she’s smiling warmly at the kid, her frustration forgotten as though it had never been there. She’s looking at him with the gentleness she usually reserves for fans but magnified a hundred times over, and the kid says, “Hey, Mom, your PA is getting us dinner,” and grins at Emma again through a mouthful of chips.

 

_Mom._

 

Regina Mills has a _son_. Emma nearly chokes. “You’re… _you’re_ Henry?” she demands, twisting to stare at him. There’s only a faint resemblance, and it’s more in his dark hair and the way he smirks than anything physical. “I thought you were a snake!” 

 

“I figure I’m probably a Ravenclaw,” Henry says, that same smug look on his face that Regina gets when she’s being a smartass.

 

“Yes, this is my son,” Regina says impatiently, eyes flickering from Emma to Henry with sudden wariness.

 

“ _Adoptive_ son,” Henry mutters, scowling to himself, and Emma breathes out and understands for the first time. 

 

Regina who doesn’t do genre TV, who hadn’t been invited to audition for the role and swallowed her pride and done it anyway. Regina who _despises_ Rose and all she stands for; Regina who has an adoptive son just about Jamie’s age who glowers when he talks about it.

 

Emma isn’t the only one who’d seen herself in her character, and she feels as though she’s managed to peel away one more layer of Regina Mills to glimpse past her exterior. “You have an adoptive son,” she says slowly. 

 

“A son, dear,” Regina snaps. “That doesn’t change regardless of who gave birth to him. And you’ll mind your nondisclosure agreement.” 

 

“My–“ She’d skimmed that section of her contract, her eyes skipping over the bits she hadn’t understood. “You put your _son_ in our NDAs?” 

 

“I’m a very private person,” Regina says loftily. There’s something else lurking beneath the surface, and Emma thinks it might be… _fear_? She squints at her uncertainly. 

 

Henry says, “I like Emma. Can she take me around set?” He’s smiling the sharp smile of a child who’s heard his mother ranting about her costar very, very often. Emma gulps. 

 

“Of course she will,” Regina says, her own smile painted onto her face. It’s punctuated by a stern glare at Emma; but at this point, nobody present would believe that anyone but Henry is in charge.

 

**in which regina pulls no punches.**

 

Emma isn’t in the habit of making friends with ten-year-olds, but Henry Mills is nothing if not determined. He’s just a year or so older than her own son would have been and it’s…bittersweet, when she allows herself to contemplate this new friendship. She wakes up to cryptic emoji messages from him and the occasional _Mom’s extra cranky today, have fun!_ on the days this summer when he isn’t underfoot.

 

And somehow, difficult Regina Mills is a whole lot less difficult when Henry is around, and Henry’s gleeful about latching onto Emma. She’s suddenly being dragged into Regina’s trailer during for lunches and Henry has a little chair between them on set with his name on it, and fuck, Regina Mills is starting to grow on Emma just a little bit.

 

“Is it okay?” she dares to ask after one lunch. Henry’s already run off with Jamaal, the two of them with some grand plot to break into Cora’s bungalow and watch TV, and now it’s only Regina and Emma fighting over the last fry. 

 

Regina wins, of course, snatching it out from under Emma’s hand and bringing it to her mouth with a flourish. “Okay that my son is blatantly using your presence to lash out at me? Of course it isn’t.” She chews carefully, tiny bites like Foster Mother Number Eight had always insisted on, and Emma tears her eyes away from Regina’s lips to meet her burning gaze. “But I can’t tell you to get the hell away from us without him blaming me, so here you are.” 

 

“He didn’t take well to finding out that he was adopted,” Emma guesses. It’s apparent every time Henry brings up his mother, and in the strained tension between them when they’re on their own. Emma sees them on set sometimes, Regina’s lips pressed together and Henry defiant as he resists whatever she asks of him, and Emma’s beginning to feel a certain kind of compassion toward Regina Mills. 

 

Regina says, absentmindedly, “Yours was a closed adoption. You weren’t in prison when you had him like Rose was, but you were in a women’s shelter. You made one visit to a clinic and reconsidered after counseling.” She scoops out a forkful of lasagna as Emma stares, openmouthed. 

 

“You sent a private investigator after me?” 

 

Regina looks up now, her eyes smoldering with danger. “You pry into my life, I pry into yours. Take care with my son.”

 

“I wasn’t going to– I’m not Rose!” Emma protests, helpless and outraged. Of course Regina Mills would dig through her past for dirt as some weird territorial thing with Henry. Victoria had done it, and Emma’s beginning to think that the line between actress and character is only as thick as _actual murder_. “I’m not out to get you, either! You don’t need to _punish_ me because Henry likes me.” 

 

She pushes her food away from her, her appetite gone, and heads for the door to the trailer. Regina murmurs, “Miss Swan.” 

 

Emma pauses, caught between frustration and fury. She’d thought they were getting somewhere. She’d been growing _fond_ of Regina– at least when it comes to how much she adores Henry. And now–

 

“I didn’t hire a private investigator. I would,” she says, warning in her tone. “And I won’t hesitate to use anything I’ve found against you if you violate my trust. But for that information, all I had to do was sit through a family dinner.” 

 

Emma hesitates. Turns around. Meets Regina’s eyes.

 

Regina inclines her head. “My mother is not your friend, Miss Swan. It would serve you well to understand that.” She looks back down, digging into her lasagna again, Emma dismissed. 

 

Emma stares at her for another moment and then slips out of the trailer, the door slamming closed behind her. 

 

* * *

 

**in which they go on a date (or something like that).**

 

Emma doesn’t know if Cora is her friend or isn’t, but she does know that Regina is _not_. Regina makes that clear every time they interact. Henry is in school again soon enough, sending her enthusiastic texts during the day when he can sneak off to his phone. There are times when Emma and Regina will be beaming down at their phones in unison, nearly sharing secret smiles before one of them realizes what they’re doing and glowers instead.

 

They’re barely done with their original run of episodes when the show airs to enormous success. Emma scrolls through articles, dazed at the praise she sees in them, and Cora squeezes her shoulder and says approvingly, “That’s my star.” Mary Margaret and Regina have been greeted with equal enthusiasm, and even Jamaal has been well-received for a child actor.

 

Emma’s Twitter numbers are piling up, and she’s stunned when she realizes that she’s made it to twenty thousand followers after only one episode. Mary Margaret tweets a happy welcome to her and Jamaal and David. Regina does not follow her. Emma does not follow her in return, though she finds herself absentmindedly clicking on Regina's twitter page so often that Google’s put it on her Most Visited homepage.

 

And it’s kind of intimidating, getting to post photos of herself with Jamaal on Twitter and seeing the enthusiastic responses. _Momma Rose!_ says one. _Can you take one with Regina??_ demands another, and Emma winces and ignores that one. She answers questions readily, interacting with her followers as best as she can, and she only slips up once when she gets the excited, _How would you describe Regina in two words??_

 

_Evil Queen!_ she writes back, adding a little smiley at the end so Henry will think she’s joking, and there’s a garbled response that she doesn’t understand and then a dozen more questions about Regina. Everyone wants to know about Regina. Jamaal and David field those questions gamely, Mary Margaret is desperately cheery, and Emma avoids them as often as possible.

 

The second episode airs and they’re picked up for a full season order. Filming begins again in a few weeks, and Emma starts looking at slightly more upscale apartments than the one she’d originally chosen. Her Twitter follower number grows, and now there are people tagging her in photos and calling for _Victory Rose!_ and she’s touched and emboldened by their support.

 

She’s leaving one apartment near the busier part of Storybrooke when she spots a familiar face in a restaurant window. _Regina_ , out to dinner with…? An older man, wearing a tailored suit, and Emma squints at him with vague recognition until she makes the connection.

 

She’d met him at the party when the pilot had been picked up. He’s a network exec, and not for ABC or Disney, and Emma gapes in through the window in disbelief. Regina’s being _poached_ , and she has her work smile on like she’s a willing participant in said poaching.

 

How dare she. How dare she threaten the show when they’re finally on firm footing. Emma clenches her fists and tries not to rage but fails, in standard Emma fashion, and barges into the restaurant, storming past the maître d’ and pulling up a chair to Regina’s table.

 

Regina gives her a sharp, startled look, and Emma stares hard at her, taking in the precisely applied makeup and the conservatively cut dress. It’s a little less formal than she’d expect for a job interview, and she swallows back nausea and says, “Hi! I’m Emma Swan. Regina’s costar?” 

 

The exec looks politely confused before his face clears. “Ah, on that fairytales show of Cora’s.” 

 

“It’s really nothing at all,” Regina says, smiling tightly. “Miss Swan, a pleasure to see you. Why don’t you show yourself to the door before I have you escorted out?” 

 

Emma smiles back, sweet and false, and then returns to the exec. “She’s really lovely,” she says. “An absolute diva on set and totally difficult to work with, but she makes up for it with all those goofball antics!” She laughs loudly and Regina simmers with rage. “We’re sometimes out an extra hour or two with bloopers alone!” 

 

“That sounds…fun?” the exec says, blinking over to Regina with her fake smile and severe outfit.

 

“Oh, I’m constant entertainment,” she says through gritted teeth. “Will you excuse us for a minute? I have to call Miss Swan’s AA sponsor.” The exec nods, still bemused, and Emma lets Regina yank her to the restaurant bathroom.

 

It’s a private one-room one without stalls, and as soon as they’re inside, Regina rounds on her. “How dare you?” she hisses.

 

“How dare _I_?” Emma says, disbelieving. “You’re the one jumping networks the moment the show finds its legs! Was this just a game for you?” she demands furiously. “Is this some mother-daughter rebellion? Is it because of that Victory Rose thing?” 

 

Regina stills, her eyes narrowing. Emma blows forward. “Because I’m not a fan of…” She struggles for words. “Pitting one woman as ‘victorious’ over another, but your character’s kind of a sociopath? So it’s perfectly reasonable that people would be rooting for–“ 

 

“Miss Swan, you really are frighteningly stupid,” Regina says, staring at her.

 

Emma is stymied by that. “You’re going to sabotage the show and you’re calling me stupid? What’s next, you’ll call Jamaal and–“ 

 

“Shut _up_ ,” Regina snarls, whatever had paused her rage unpaused with the mention of Jamaal. “I’m not leaving the show, you imbecile. I’m on a _date_.” 

 

Emma blinks. “ _What_?” Regina is half the exec’s age at the very least, and she hadn’t looked like she’d wanted to be there at all in a non-professional sense. “With him? Why?” 

 

Regina sighs, turning away from her. “Because if you want something from my mother, you have to give her something in return.”

 

“Your mother wants you to date rich old men. Solid plan. I’d rather date–” Emma starts, suddenly uncomfortable in the room. She’s realizing now that she’d just given Regina a _reputation_ with someone who matters, and she’s about to blurt out something else when she rethinks it. 

 

Hollywood is a different world than the one she’d been in until now, and consequences go far deeper than a few snide remarks and some smugness. And standing in this bathroom opposite Regina with the air beginning to feel heavy and loaded with something she can’t grasp– “What did you want from your mother?” she asks.

 

“Victoria’s father,” Regina says, and Emma understands. She’d barely been privy to those arguments about casting, back and forth and back and forth between Cora and Regina. _Oh, darling, he’s the best actor for the role. Victoria is hardly coded as Latina._ Regina had snapped at her mother and Emma had tried to step into the room but Regina had slammed the door in her face. 

 

And Regina’s choice had been cast in the end and Emma had just assumed that she’d been angry and loud enough that her mother had finally listened, not that this kind of exchange had been agreed upon. “Regina,” she says, her throat dry.

 

“Stable your white horse. It’s just a few hours of my time.” Regina rolls her eyes. “Mother’s never grasped that I’m not _her_. I won’t be won over by some old coot with all the right connections. As long as Mother believes she’s in control, I can win this.” 

 

Emma chews on her lip, feeling very out of place in old jeans and the ratty tee she’d been wearing when she’d come storming into the restaurant. “You know you don’t have to…uh…” She digs her fingers into her palm. “You don’t have to do this stuff alone, okay? Cora likes me, and I can…” 

 

“Cora likes you as much as she does any obedient pet,” Regina says derisively. “I don’t need you.” 

 

“I got that.” She doesn’t like Regina Mills but she _knows_ her, knows the helplessness of losing battles and everything that matters to you in someone else’s hands. And she’s fought too often alone to let someone else do the same. “I’m just…I’m here. If you need a united front or…whatever.” She ducks her head, staring at the sink in front of them and feeling inexpressibly awkward. “Or we could just be assholes to each other and blow off steam, I guess.” 

 

“I do prefer that option,” Regina says, examining her nails. But there’s a hint of color in her cheeks that Emma thinks she might be imagining. “Do stay here, dear.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“We can’t be seen leaving this bathroom together.” She smiles, teeth sharp and white like a hungry feline. “Maybe you think you can handle sordid lesbian scandal rumors, but I have better taste than to be associated with _you_.”

 

Emma hears _sordid lesbian scandal_ and her brain goes fuzzy for a moment. When she snaps out of it, Regina is gone and Emma’s alone in the bathroom, her heart pounding like she’s just run a marathon.

 

* * *

 

**in which it all gets a little too real.**

 

She’s getting better with the fans now, less awkward as they get to know her character onscreen and she begins to gain fans. _Fans_. No one quite on the level of Brian, who insists on photos and autographs every time Regina ventures out to the set barrier, but fans who genuinely seem to like her or look up to her, who talk about Rose like she _matters_.

 

Mary Margaret keeps up happy chatter with her corner of the fans, though more and more of them drift to Emma and Regina’s area as the days pass. Regina is at the center of the crowd most of the time, warm and maternal with a sharp tongue to match, and the fans flock to her without fail.

 

Their first big climax airs soon after they reach their stride in filming, Victoria murdering the Huntsman, and Regina’s fanbase doesn’t take a hit at all. Emma’s impressed despite herself. “I can’t believe you survived that,” she comments when they traipse back to their trailers after a long day.

 

“Fans really wanted to see me punch you in the face.” Regina had _actually_ punched her, a swift blow that had had her reeling and charging in for the return, and their stunt doubles had only taken over when the director had 'expressed concern that they’d been losing their characters.’ They’d still done a take for their face shots with Regina against the wall of a crypt while Emma had pretending to punch her, Regina gasping for breath and Emma’s hands pressed against her and both of them warm with the charged air between them.

 

Emma swallows audibly and Regina smirks, breaking away from her to her own trailer, and Emma winces and texts her, determined to have the last word, _Your punch was weak, anyway._

 

_I have eight years of martial-arts training under my belt,_ comes the reply. _That was just a taste._

 

Emma flips the bird in the general area of Regina’s trailer window and is tucking her phone into her back pocket as she enters her own. She pauses to flick on the lights, and a voice behind her rumbles, “Do you think you can treat her like that?” 

 

She twists around, recognizing the fan behind the voice immediately. “ _Brian_?” How had he gotten past security? He’s looming over her, half to the ceiling of her trailer, and she remembers her phone still halfway into her pocket with Regina’s text window still open.

 

She manages _SOS_ and contemplates running away, but she’s always been better at yelling than running. “What the hell are you doing here? You know I can have you arrested for trespassing?” 

 

“You _punched_ her,” he snarls. “I see how you treat her. She’s too good for you, you fucking cunt.” He takes another step forward and she sees something glinting in his hand. _A knife._ A fucking _knife_ , a crude one that it looks like he yanked from her kitchen counter. “I’m going to protect her from you.” His eyes take on a fanatical glint as he moves forward, and Emma begins to think that this has gone past just an obsessive fan. 

 

“Okay, Brian,” she says soothingly, holding her hands up, and when he steps closer, she kicks him in the groin. She might not have _eight years of martial arts_ under her belt, but she has a mean right hook and she’s scrappy with the muscle tone to match, and Brian doubles over and bellows in pain as she punches him and twists her foot into his gut again.

 

And then there’s a flash of the knife and Emma’s ducking back, crashing into her kitchen and bringing her whole drying rack down onto her. Brian laughs gleefully, charging forward again, and Emma scrambles and realizes too late that she’s cornered.

 

And just in time, the door bangs open and Regina storms in with her obscenely large security team. Emma blinks up at her, a little dazed by the silverware still raining on her head, and Brian beams. “Regina! You’re just in time for the bitch to get her due.” 

 

“Have him arrested,” Regina orders, her face devoid of color. “Get that restraining order and get him out of my sight.” She kneels down beside Emma, ignoring her security team as they haul Brian out. “You attacked him when he had a knife on him, didn’t you?” she demands.

 

Emma shrugs, very embarrassed. Regina sighs with exasperation. “Of course you did.” She rises and snatches a bag of mixed vegetables from Emma’s freezer from the ten seconds when Emma had been stocking up her trailer and actually convinced herself that she’d be cooking healthy meals in it. Instead, apparently, it’s being used as an ice pack. 

 

Well. Better Regina sees that than the several pints of ice cream behind it. She winces as Regina presses the bag to her head and retrieves a towel, dabbing at some scrapes on her arm with swift and angry strokes as her face gets darker and darker. “Do you have _any_ personal security on set?” Regina demands. 

 

“Yeah, I have–“ 

 

“Have you ever even locked your trailer door?” Emma keeps wisely silent. “This is your fault. This is so _typical– reckless–_ “ She endures what must be ten minutes of Regina lecturing her on set security before Regina rounds on her again. “And this is because you don’t follow me on Twitter!” 

 

“What? You don’t follow me either!” 

 

Regina ignores her. “Clearly it’s caused the media to imagine a _feud_ ,” she snaps. “So careless! What if Henry finds out? Don’t you ever _think_ , Miss Swan?” She’s swabbing furiously at what Emma is pretty sure is just a mosquito bite–

 

“With your track record, it might as well be biological warfare from a stalker you invited into your house to room with you!” Regina snarls, still fuming. 

 

And Emma is beginning to get alarmed at how angry Regina is, which is the only reason she’d ever venture the “I’m…sorry?” that emerges next.

 

And it does work at appeasing Regina just a little. Regina scowls at her with a rapidly fading frown, grumbling to herself for a few more minutes as she attacks what’s really _just a mole, Regina, calm down_  (Emma does not dare point out). “This is a genre show,” she says finally. “That means super-fans and people who are bound to overstep if you give them the chance. It’s bigger than…than I’d ever thought it would be. You have to be careful, Emma.” 

 

She flushes deep brown and stands, stalking from the trailer with her head held high.

 

Emma stares after her, bemused and a little awestruck. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to reply to comments before I posted this but fell asleep several times in the process so ANYWAY. Running late, y'all will get them soon! Pls enjoy Regina and Emma still stumbling around trying to figure out their relationship below. <3

**in which there is a hallway altercation [1.0].**

 

Emma had thought that things might improve between them after the encounter with the stalker, but she’d underestimated Regina Mills’s determination to shut her  out. And if anything, Regina gets worse after that night and the morning that follows. 

 

She arrives on set that next morning, fueled by the knowledge that they maybe-kind-of had a moment the night before, and she charges after Regina with the absolute lack of subtlety she’s so good at. “So, hey. Thanks for saving my life last night.” 

 

Regina barely spares her a glance. “Hardly your life, Miss Swan.” There’s a telltale flush on her face, embarrassment giving way to haughtiness. “I wanted that restraining order and I got it. You were just… _bait_.” 

 

Emma grins, undeterred. “So you’re saying that you set up Brian’s attack on your coworker just to screw him over? I bet your bosses will be thrilled to know–“ 

 

“What are you after now, Miss Swan?” Regina demands tiredly, still avoiding her eyes. “Do you want me to pretend that I was worried about you? That we’re _friends_ now?” Emma had followed Regina on Twitter last night in a moment of regret. She’d waited for the follow back until Regina had sent out a morning tweet, _Heading to set for another day terrorizing the townspeople of #HappilyEverAfter!_ ,and then unfollowed her again in a huff.

 

So yeah, maybe they’re not quite at _friends_ yet. “I want you to run lines with me,” she says instead, jogging to keep up with Regina’s stride. “We have that big scene at the end of this episode where Victoria’s going to run circles around Rose and I know you love doing that, so I thought we could–“ 

 

They round a corner and Emma breaks off in the middle of a sentence, gaping at the sight in front of them. Mary Margaret and David are locked in an embrace at the end of the hall, all lips and tongues and hands like a couple of horny teenagers, and they spring apart at Regina’s sharp gasp. 

 

“Regina!” Mary Margaret looks wide-eyed and terrified. “Regina, _please_ don’t tell anyone.” 

 

Emma remembers too late that David is married– separated but married– to a friendly blonde named Kathryn who’s been on set a few times over the course of the season. Mary Margaret leans forward, hands beseeching as she reaches for Regina, and she never even notices that Emma is there. “Regina, please,” she begs, and Regina turns on her heel and marches back down the hall to the exit. 

 

Emma chases after her, grabbing her arm to slow her down. “Regina, what the hell? I know that you hate anything that might make Mary Margaret happy, but if you tell your mom or Gold before the divorce is final, they’re both going to be in deep shit–“ 

 

“If you think I give a damn about Mary Margaret Blanchard, you’ve severely misjudged me,” Regina snarls. “You have no idea what our relationship is.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah. You hate her, she’s all mopey about it,” Emma says, squeezing Regina’s arm. Regina yanks it away, violently enough that Emma teeters backward on the steps. “Just let it be, okay? Don’t attack her personal life over some professional gripe–“ 

 

Regina laughs wildly, nearly uncontrolled, and Emma can only stare wide-eyed. “You naive little brat,” she hisses. “You’re nearly as bad as she is.” 

 

Emma breathes in. Nastiness from Regina is nothing new, even if it’s never seemed to affect Regina quite as much as it does today. “So…you don’t want to run lines...?” she ventures like the smartass she can be.

 

Regina whirls around, stares at her with sightless eyes, and then storms in the direction of her trailer. 

 

Emma spreads her hands helplessly as Mary Margaret tears past her, following Regina in the same direction. “I tried?” she says to the empty hallway. 

 

* * *

 

**in which there is a hallway altercation [2.0].**

 

Regina doesn’t tell, as far as Emma knows. Mary Margaret is on edge throughout all of filming that week, but no one calls her over and she and David keep their distance whenever they can. And the greatest sign that Regina hasn’t done anything is how fucking _obnoxious_ she is all week, toward Mary Margaret and Emma most of all.

 

And it’s wearing very, very thin, Emma close to her limit already and Regina making no effort to do anything but fan the flames.

 

“How am I supposed to play opposite such incompetent acting?” she demands one day when Emma’s nearly about to toss in the towel and storm offstage. They’ve done this scene a dozen times already– much more than they generally need– and Emma _is_ off-kilter, still reeling from Regina’s sneered comments before the scene.

 

And Regina has insulted her intelligence before, her appearance, the way she walks and talks and what she wears…but she’s never insulted her acting before today, and Emma’s just exhausted enough that it strikes something vulnerable within her. Regina’s as close to a role model in acting as she’s ever had around her, and she throws up her hands and says, “Just don’t, then, okay?” 

 

She heads for the door and Regina swoops forward to cut her off, looking stymied. “So now you’re just going to give up? One bad day and you’re running home to cry into your ice cream?” So she _had_ noticed the ice cream in Emma's freezer. “Pathetic.” 

 

It’s so hamfisted an offense that even Emma Swan can resist the challenge, and she shoves past Regina to the stage exit just as Cora bustles in. 

 

“What is going on here?” she demands, and Regina steams silently as Emma glares at her. “We don’t have the time or budget to have you acting like a _child_.” Cora’s eyes are disapproving on Regina, and Regina stiffens under them. “Do it again. _Now_.” 

 

The scene is in the sheriff’s station, after Charming’s missing wife had been found. And there’s always been a playfulness that has suffused their scenes as Rose and Victoria, where Victoria is all bark and no bite and Rose rolls her eyes with the kind of fondness that consistent irritation can bring. But today, Victoria is victorious and Rose is aggressive, frustrated and furious and helpless; and Emma walks into the station and sees Regina in a new position.

 

They’d been doing it with Regina in Rose’s chair behind the desk, but this time, Regina is perched on the edge of the desk, her legs crossed and an expectant look on her face. Emma freezes and then shifts forward, finding her character again in her own frustration and anger and desire to… _fuck, throw Regina against a wall somewhere and…_

 

The scene is pitch-perfect this time, and Emma’s anger is still brewing strong as they set up the cameras for the scene that follows. Regina says, eyes narrowing, “You–“ 

 

“Don’t talk to me,” Emma snaps, stalking past her. Regina follows anyway, out into the hall behind that stage, and she sits down in her chair in that same damned pose that she’d used on the desk, cool and collected and expectant. Emma paces, a frenetic force of nature in that moment, and she can feel Regina’s eyes on her throughout.

 

She’s staying in character. That’s what she’s doing now. And when Victoria stands up and takes a step to her, of course Rose would move forward, trapping her against the wall, and demand, “ _What_. _Now_.” 

 

Victoria’s– _Regina’s–_ eyes are dilated, a warning hand splayed out on Emma’s abdomen so she can’t move any closer. Emma’s breathing hard, focusing on retaining Rose instead of losing her to her own fury. (Regina never needs more than the director’s voice to slip into Victoria.) 

 

And that’s how Cora finds them, inches apart and nearly panting from the charged energy between them. Regina’s hand is still pressed against Emma, the tips of her fingers brushing the underside of Emma's breasts as she breathes, and Emma’s leaning forward as Cora coughs politely.

 

Regina shoves Emma back so hard that Emma crashes into the opposite wall. “What is it, Mother?” she says stiffly. “Miss Swan and I were running lines.” 

 

“I’m sure,” Cora says, keen eyes flicking to Emma where she’s struggling to rise and then back to Regina, who looks flushed and defiant. “It’s difficult to believe that you were getting along at all. I’m very disappointed in you,” she says, and she moves from Regina to Emma, who feels very much like a kicked puppy at Cora’s frown. “And we’re going to have to fix this before rumors of an unhappy set get out.” 

 

“It’s _her_ fault,” Regina and Emma grumble in unison like a pair of _fucking_ six-year-olds. Emma winces. Regina rolls her eyes.

 

* * *

 

**in which gold takes over.**

 

“You will follow each other on Twitter,” Gold informs them, circling around the desk to blatantly watch their phones. Emma stabs the Follow button and waits nearly a full minute before she gets a notification that Regina is now following her.  _Ass_. “Good.” Gold sits, steepling his hands. “Now, about your set behavior.” 

 

“That won’t happen again.” To her credit, Regina actually looks embarrassed, lips turned down and hands wrung together. It’s been embarrassing enough being dragged into Gold’s office as though they’re children being sent to the principal. “Miss Swan will control herself next time.” 

 

Emma contemplates fighting back and then decides it’s not worth it. Gold is looking at Regina knowingly, anyway. “Yes, well. Cora runs an efficient set, and she won’t have you two throwing a wrench into that with your incompetence. So you will become friends.” 

 

“I don’t think that’s very likely,” Emma puts in. Regina doesn’t _want_ to be her friend; she’d made that clear. Beside her, Regina casts a startled glance at Emma and nods sharply.

 

Gold smiles, wide and mocking. “You’re actors, aren’t you? _Act_.” He wiggles his fingers. “You’ll meet for coffee each morning you shoot together. You will sit down and speak for at least five minutes. You will be seen arriving on set together. Understood?” It isn’t a question.

 

Emma gapes. “What?” 

 

“Six months in the biz and you're already having a PR relationship,” Regina says, looking smug at the horror on Emma’s face.

 

“Those aren’t a real thing!” Emma protests. “I’m not going on _playdates_ with Regina!” 

 

But of course she is. No one says no to Gold, and _certainly_ not to Cora. So early the next morning, Regina and Emma are sitting next to each other, drinking coffee and attempting to talk.

 

The night before, Emma had gone through her Twitter notifications and seen both celebration and snide comments about her new mutual follow. _All of you relax about my personal life,_ she’d tweeted crankily, and gotten an equally cranky email from Gold in the morning. 

 

“Very graceful,” Regina says, her tone acerbic. There is a smile plastered onto her face, giving her the freedom to be as obnoxious as possible in the process. “At this rate, we’ll be having coffee dates for the next six seasons.” 

 

“What is your problem?” Emma demands, her own smile as wide as she can manage while she’s gritting her teeth. “I actually thought we were making headway on the whole getting-along-with-your-costar thing and then Brian and Mary Margaret happened and you just tripled the high-maintenance bitchiness instead. What do you want from me?” 

 

“I want you _away_ ,” Regina snarls. “I want your smug little ingenue face out of my life. I want you to leave me be and stop trying to _make friends_ , and I want to be able to walk through the set without seeing someone new I loathe around every corner.” She won’t even look at Emma, and Emma can sense something nearly like a lie in her voice.

 

Emma keeps the smile fixed onto her face. “I want you to run lines with me,” she says instead of challenging Regina on it. “How about we do my thing first?” 

 

Regina sneers at her. “Do you think that I’m concealing some deep _affection_ for you?” she demands. “That I’m one table read away from us becoming _besties_?” 

 

“No,” Emma says, and Regina glares at her again with that same lie in her eyes, resentment mingling with what Emma would swear is fear if she squints. And maybe Regina’s behavior is a bit clearer when she factors in whatever defenses had been dropped after Brian’s attack.

 

She’s no stranger to pushing away people, either, and she feels a surge of camaraderie that would probably horrify Regina. “I want to read with you,” Emma says honestly. “Maybe I’m incompetent but you’re _really_ good, and acting with you has taught me a lot.” 

 

If anything, Regina’s face is even darker with suspicion than it had been before. “You… _want_ to read with me.” 

 

Emma tugs out her script and jabs her finger at their first interaction in the script she’d gotten this morning. “So, Victoria’s having these dreams about Rose that kind of sound like the start of a porno,” she says, sliding her finger down to the lines in question. “ _I didn’t come for dinner._ ” Her voice is low and throaty, suggestive of what _dinner_ comprises. 

 

Regina chokes back what might have been a laugh. Or maybe just a snarl. “ _Then what did you come for?_ ” she purrs, voice like sex.

 

“ _You_ ,” Emma breathes, yanking off her jacket with the dramatic flair of a stripper. And now Regina really _does_ laugh, a few exhalations that burst from her as though they’ve been torn unwillingly from her throat.

 

And Emma feels like maybe this is something they can sustain.

 

* * *

 

**in which they’re _especially_ closeted.**

 

And things do get a bit better. Regina is still standoffish but Emma’s gotten good at deciphering it– at deciphering _Regina_ , really, who makes snide comments but it’s more out of habit than spite at this point. Emma still has a comeback on her lips as often as she can manage, struggling to eke out another laugh, and Regina refuses to cooperate.

 

“I know what you’re up to, Miss Swan,” Regina says one morning, stone-faced. “Right now, the only reason I’m tolerating you is because you have my coffee.” She glances at the paparazzi that Gold has been tipping off to their whereabouts and manages a smile that looks frighteningly ominous. 

 

Emma hands over the cup of coffee. “What happens now?” she challenges, eyebrows waggling.

 

“Now, you–“ She freezes.

 

“What?” But Emma’s already turning to see what it is that Regina’s eyes wide with horror. It’s Marian, Jamaal and Henry trailing behind her as she makes her way to the door of the coffeeshop. “Do you want to say hi?” 

 

“No!” Regina looks suddenly frantic, her eyes flickering to the door and then back to Gold’s paparazzi. “No, I–“ She stands abruptly, running for the bathroom–

 

Which is locked. Regina’s hands are shaking, her eyes moving everywhere in the hopes of finding a place to hide, and Emma thinks fast, yanks a door open, and pushes her inside.

 

She shuts the door behind them and hears a click– because of _course_ , she’s living the cliche right now. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she mumbles, struggling to move forward.

 

“There’s nowhere to go,” Regina says, but it sounds more relieved than accusing. “This closet is packed.” 

 

"I can pick the lock," Emma volunteers. "I have some hairpins—"

 

"Not yet," Regina says. She’s still pressed between Emma and what feels like a metal shelf behind her, and Emma repositions them as best as she can. Which means her hand accidentally lands on Regina’s ass, and Regina sucks in a breath (which Emma can feel since they’re _glued together,_ thank you very much) and says in a low tone, “Kindly cease groping me.” 

 

Emma retracts her hand hastily, flattening herself against the door and feeling Regina relax in response. “Sorry.” 

 

“It’s fine,” Regina mutters. “Why is this potential for sordid lesbian scandals becoming a habit with you?” 

 

Emma flushes in the dark and says morosely, “We could have just taken a selfie and skipped all this drama.” She brightens. “We can do it right now! Caption it–“ 

 

“ _Miss Swan._ ” 

 

“‘Trapped in a closet together.’ Hashtag Happily Ever After.” She beams at her own wit. Somewhere in the dark, Regina must be rolling her eyes.

 

And, sure enough, there’s a strained, “You aren’t funny, Miss Swan.” 

 

“ _Emma_ ,” Emma corrects her. “If Gold wants us to play at being friends, you might as well call me by my name. And explain why it is that we’re hiding from your son,” she adds boldly, feeling Regina sag against her. She might not like Regina very much (or at least will go to her grave insisting that), but at least now she can demand some _answers_ , unravel a little more of the woman pressed to her.

 

Regina’s head is resting on her shoulder now, probably unintentionally, and Emma keeps a hand on Regina’s back in an attempt to keep her calm. Their chests are pressed together, enough that there’s friction against Emma’s nipples every time either of them breathes, and she’s feeling warm and a little dizzy at the contact. 

 

And then Regina ventures, her tone careful, “You know that I’m very private.” 

 

“So you say.” 

 

“I didn't want Henry to think that I’m ashamed to be seen with him.” 

 

“But you can’t be seen with him,” Emma guesses. “That’s why we’re in this closet? Because you didn’t want to risk him running over and the paparazzi taking photos?” 

 

“You do care about him,” Regina says, voice like steel. “For all your faults– and they are numerous–“ 

 

“Hey!”

 

“You do care about my son.” Regina stands stock-still, her legs trembling where they’re tangled into Emma’s, and Emma breathes. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I do. I would never do anything to hurt him.” 

 

“I believe you,” Regina murmurs, and it feels a lot like _I trust you_. Emma curls her fingers into Regina’s back, brushing her knuckles against the thin material of her blouse, and Regina shivers. “You’re not an atrocious actor,” she says suddenly.

 

Emma is taken aback. “Are you apologizing for last week?” 

 

“I don’t apologize,” Regina sniffs. “I’m clarifying. You could be worse. Look at Mary Margaret.”

 

“She’s my friend,” Emma feels obligated to point out.

 

Regina shifts against her, her hands rising and then dropping back down. “She’s a terrible friend.” She doesn’t wear perfume on set, but Emma can smell her shampoo when she’s this close, and it’s an effort not to inhale again. “You’d do well to stay away from her.” 

 

“You say that about everyone on set.” Cora hasn’t given Emma reason to distrust her again, no matter how certain Regina’s been that she isn’t trustworthy. She’s been a reliable ally for Emma all along despite any misgivings that Emma might have had. “Have you ever considered that it might just be you?” 

 

She thinks she might have overstepped, but Regina laughs. “Oh, Emma,” she purrs, her voice sultry and rich with mocking. Emma aches, her back arching as she unconsciously moves closer, and Regina doesn’t push her away this time. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

 

“I can handle myself,” Emma mutters. She isn’t a fresh-faced ingenue no matter what Regina thinks, bowled over by a world where everyone has secret agendas. “I was left at the side of a freeway when I was born. I spent most of my life being moved from group home to group home until I ran out of the whole foster system and got knocked up in the process. I’m not a stranger to assholes who want to manipulate and control me.”

 

Regina might fall into the asshole category but she doesn’t fall into the _control_ part of it, and Emma refuses to think about how much she wants to trust her right now. But Regina’s fingers are settling on her hips, comfortable as they dig lightly into her skin, and she thinks that Regina must sense the same _I trust you_ as she’d offered Emma earlier. “How did you wind up here from there?” 

 

“There was a program. A kind of…scholarship, I guess, for women who’d been staying at the shelter for long enough. To give us opportunities to get into the arts. So I got some drama training and it felt good, you know? To be in someone else’s skin?” Emma Swan hadn’t been anyone worth knowing, but she’d found worth in each of the roles she’d attempted instead.

 

“I do,” Regina whispers. 

 

“So I became a waitress after that scholarship and I did the birthday clown bit and I tried a few auditions…” She’d never auditioned at her best, and she’d never come out of it feeling as though she’d be what anyone had wanted. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I was good enough to be a real actress. I’m no _you_.” The compliment slips out, unbidden, and settles in the nearly nonexistent space between them.

 

Regina says, “Well, of course not,” but she sounds gratified at it. “You aren’t incompetent, though. Rose is…nearly sympathetic in your hands.” 

 

“You don’t really think that Victoria should win this battle, do you?” Emma ventures, because Regina might over-identify but she can’t over-identify _that_ much. 

 

Regina shrugs, shifting their bodies against each other again, and Emma nearly chokes. “I think Victoria’s son should be left out of it,” she says finally. “Whatever’s written next, Victoria and Jamie are a family.” 

 

“Yes,” Emma agrees. Because Victoria might be cruel on paper, but Regina plays her with so much love for Jamie that it’s impossible to believe that Rose is justified in threatening to take him away. Emma desperately wants Rose to know him, to _love_ him, but she just as desperately wants Regina to get the story with her son that she deserves.

 

_Victoria._ She wants _Victoria_ to get that story.

 

And she says anyway, “He’s going to get it eventually. Henry, I mean. He’s going to understand how much you love him and I know he loves you, even if he’s still angry.” 

 

“I don’t know if he will.” Regina’s voice hitches on a sob. “I don’t think I handled him finding out very well. And I– I just want him to–“ 

 

Her hands tangle into Emma's hair and Emma stills at the sensation of deft fingers running under the messy ponytail she'd put in that morning. She slides her hands a little higher on Regina’s back, tentative but bold in the stark honesty of this dark closet, and she thinks she can see Regina's eyes shift to her lips. "Regina," she breathes, and wants nothing more than that. 

 

Regina's fingers catch on a hairpin under the ponytail and she says, her voice oddly strangled, "Marian must be gone by now."

 

"Huh?" Emma's eyes are glued to Regina's tongue as it swipes at her lips. "Marian," she repeats faintly. 

 

And firm hands are at her waist, urging her to turn as Regina's arms encircle her and she presses the hairpin into her palm. "The lock, Miss Swan," Regina murmurs, chin digging into Emma's shoulder. "Or would you rather someone else find us in a compromising situation?" 

 

"Uh," Emma says. She hasn't quite remembered how to speak yet, but her fingers are moving deftly with a learned precision, sliding the pin into the door and testing the tumblers one by one. The door clicks and Emma pushes it open. 

 

Regina seizes her before she can leave, twisting past her and peering into an empty back hallway. "Wait here until I leave the shop," she whispers, lips grazing Emma's ear. "Three minutes."

 

The gossip mag blurb reads _Regina Mills and rising star Emma Swan stop for coffee together before filming. Mills departed early after another rumored tiff between the feuding costars_.

 

* * *

 

**in which emma ventures to tumblr.**

 

As it is, though, they go back to doing their jobs over the next weeks. They don’t talk about how they’d opened up to each other in that closet and they don’t talk about how close they’d been standing in there, but Regina doesn’t scowl quite as hard and they run their lines with more ease from then on. 

 

Cora is less than pleased about the whispers still coming from Twitter, but she eases up on them once they’ve stopped making the set hell. Emma makes some shamefaced apologies to the crew and Regina waltzes in one day with Henry, balancing enough cupcakes for everyone on set in their arms. Things are getting back to normal.

 

The snide remarks from Emma’s fanbase (fandom? She’s still very new to this) don’t stop, though, and she winces at their comments on every picture she posts. The most recent is one with David as they brandish their cupcakes and Jamaal pokes his head up behind them, and it gets a decent number of favorites and retweets but a lot of cranky questions.

 

_Why don’t you ever take photos with Regina?_

 

_We want Regina selfies!_

 

_Give us Victory Rose!_

 

She nearly caves at that last one and just posts a photo of herself doing a victory sign; but instead, Henry peers over her shoulder and says, “I have a _great_ idea.” 

 

Henry’s great idea is Emma sitting next to the empty chair reading REGINA MILLS and looking very smug with herself, and she tweets out that picture and nearly laughs at the enraged comments that pour in. So maybe she’s giving the rumors legitimacy. That’s not her problem. Regina has done selfies even with Mary Margaret at this point, so if she won’t take one with Emma, that isn’t Emma’s problem.

 

There’s a break in the frothing outrage after a few days, and Emma’s finally able to click through her notifications and see some of the milder comments. There are some gushing comments on their recent episodes– the last few of the first season, though the show’s been unofficially renewed and they’re already shooting promotion for next season– and some links to artwork on Tumblr.

 

_Tumblr_. Before this year, Emma had thought it was a hipster version of Pinterest, where all those terrible motivational posters on Facebook had originated. Now, she’s learning it’s a hub of fandom for artwork and more. She’s laughed at their memes and even looked into getting a Tumblr of her own (though the “emmaswan” URL has already been taken by some blogger with a beef with another woman sharing her name), and she clicks on the artwork and looks interestedly at the beautiful photos of Victoria, Rose, and Jamie.

 

They’re framed in the picture like family photos, and the Evil Queen is standing in front of them, a hand reaching for the photo– no, the image in the mirror. Emma shifts uneasily, something twinging in her heart at the sight of it.

 

The blogger who’d posted it has _Victory Rose!_ proclaimed proudly in their sidebar, and Emma notices suddenly that it’s a clickable link. She presses it and is taken to the main Tumblr tag for the keywords. _Simple enough_. 

 

The first post in the tag is a summary of one of the final scenes in the most recent episode.

 

_Victoria and Rose stared at each other for a long time, their eyes laden with meaning that only the other could understand. And as Rose turns to leave, Victoria calls out, “Oh, Miss Turner? Maybe a little something for the road?”_

 

_Rose turns. Victoria offers her a wolfish smile._

 

Emma doesn’t remember the smile– she thinks she’d remember Regina with a _wolfish smile_ – but she knows what happens next: the apple turnover, the beginning of the end. She reads on.

 

_“A little something,” Rose agrees, shifting forward, and her hands slide up onto the straining button at the top of Victoria’s blouse, fondling the breasts beneath the shirt. Victoria groans with pleasure, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and Rose buries her mouth in Victoria’s cleavage and hoists her up onto the counter._

 

Emma chokes. “Oh, my god,” she says faintly. “Oh god, that wasn’t onscreen.” Oh god, this is what they mean by _fanfiction_. 

 

Oh, god, people want…Victoria and Rose…to hook up? She reels in her seat, bright red and horrified. Victory Rose isn’t fans cheering on Rose’s victory, it’s fans cheering on Rose _fucking Victoria._  Does Regina know about this? Regina couldn’t possibly know about this.

 

No way this is real. She’d never even thought that…oh my god, it’s so _popular_. 

 

She scrolls hastily past the fanfiction– she catches _Rose on the dining room table as Victoria flicks her tongue against her clit_ and lets out a completely unintentional groan of embarrassed agony at what the mental image of that does to her insides–

 

The next photo is a _very_ explicit faked photograph of them kissing?? It has over a thousand notes?? Emma can’t stop staring at it???

 

Emma breathes in very hard and tries hard not to think about the adoring look that Regina ( _naked Regina,_ her brain corrects her) has when she’s gazing at Emma– no, _Rose_ –

 

And _honestly_ , Regina has much better arms than that. Regina has more curves than that, too, and Emma’s mind is drifting back to that terrible day in the closet when she’d been hyperaware of said curves and as unconscionably aroused as she is right now.  

 

She panics and clicks out of the tag. And then deletes her search history. And then nearly pushes her laptop out the window before she stops herself.

 

She goes to bed.

 

Three sleepless nights later, she googles  _Victory Rose Happily Ever After_.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter I am sorry to bring to you, but I promise everything here has its purpose! We have to undergo the whole journey for the conclusion to mean something, right? So warnings for some microaggressions/homophobia/biphobia idk, a tiny bit of everything. And some non-graphic f/f with Emma and another lady who isn't Regina near the end.

**in which they have a group liveblog.**

 

Filming is finally over for a few months, and Emma’s relieved to stay away from the set after the Victory Rose bombshell. She just…needs a little space to absorb it all. Her finger hovers over the elusive  _fanfiction_ a dozen times and then she clicks away, uncomfortable and feeling oddly violated by the whole thing.

 

The last episode of the season is due to air on Sunday, and she’s already been invited to a party at the Blanchards' to celebrate. “Regina probably won’t come,” Mary Margaret confides in her as she adjusts the chocolate fountain at the center of one of the side tables. Emma gapes a little at said fountain, distracted by both the luxury of it and the chocolate. “Unless Cora forces it. I can’t believe she–“ She looks disturbed. “She never told my secret.” 

 

“She isn’t that bad,” Emma defends her. She hasn’t seen much of Regina since the closet episode, but she's interacted twice with Emma on Twitter, so she thinks they’re good. 

 

(Okay, one interaction had been a favorite and the other a retweet of Emma announcing the finale would be Sunday, but it counts as less-than-hostile. Being halfway decent is extra effort from Regina, so Emma thinks that it might as well count as  _friendly_ on the Regina Scale Of Tolerance.)

 

“I would have understood if she had,” Mary Margaret murmurs, and it’s sorrowful. Emma tilts her head, ready to plunge into the mystery of the feud between the women, when there’s a cry of “Emma!” and Henry tears across the room to her, dragging Jamaal behind him. “A chocolate fountain!” he crows to Jamaal, grabbing a strawberry. “Told you Mary Margaret’s parties are worth wasting a night on.”

 

“A school night,” Regina says, snatching the strawberry out of his hand. “You are not spending tomorrow sick in bed because you ate too much chocolate.” She bites into the strawberry at Henry’s protest, her lips sliding over it as she pops it into her mouth. Emma stares for a moment and then backs away, tripping and landing in an armchair.

 

She tries to drape her legs over the arm that she’d fallen over, as though she’d meant to flop down onto it like that, and gets even more curious looks. “Have you lost control of your basic motor functions?” Regina inquires, smiling curiously at her.

 

Her cheeks flame. “Just…relaxing.” 

 

“Mmhm.” Regina looks unconvinced, but she’s still smiling, her features soft and Emma struggling desperately to avoid her gaze. “Celebrate, Emma. You made it through your first TV season.” She dips another strawberry into the fountain and offers it to Emma.

 

Henry’s presence always makes Regina calmer and less acerbic, and Jamaal and Marian with him tend to be an added bonus. Regina is on the couch with Henry seated beside her when the episode starts, her laptop in front of her as she livetweets, and Emma watches them unobtrusively. There’s no sign of discomfort between them until Henry says, “Emma! Come sit next to us!” and Regina stiffens.

 

“I’ll just…stay here, kid,” Emma says weakly. Jamaal isn’t required to livetweet and he’s perched on the arm of the chair now, peering over her shoulder at her Twitter timeline. “Jamaal, you wanna take the free spot on the couch?” 

 

Jamaal glances at her and then at Henry’s stubborn face. “I think Henry wants you there,” he says cautiously, as though it’s a discussion he’s been a part of before. But he ducks in beside Regina on the other side. Regina blinks down at him, gratified at the attention, and Henry scowls and snuggles in under his mother’s arm. Jamaal looks helplessly at Emma.

 

No one else in the room seems to notice the exchange between the four of them, the two stubborn Millses and the only costars with any clue of the tension between them, and Emma gives Jamaal a thumbs-up and focuses on the screen again.

 

She manages to avoid Regina’s eyes for the bulk of the episode, flushing when she can feel Regina's stare on her, and instead she scrolls through her notifications. There’s glee in the Victory Rose tweets, screencaps of the two of them finally working as a team, and she nearly grins at their exhilaration. 

 

“Rose is going to save him,” Henry says suddenly, straightening again as he remembers himself. He crosses the room, taking Jamaal’s place next to Emma, and Regina stares silently at them. “Isn’t she? She loves him.” 

 

“Rose and Victoria will save him together,” Emma says carefully. 

 

Henry gives her a look. “I read the script. I know how it ends. True love’s kiss. She’s the hero. She’s his  _mom_.” He stares at the screen, arms folded and eyes dark, and Regina spares him one weary look before she returns to the screen as well. Emma watches both of them, their brows furrowed in equal concentration, and forgets that she’s supposed to be liveblogging until Prince Charming kisses Snow White and the room erupts in cheers.

 

And then…she knows what happens next, same as Henry. ( _Rose slays the dragon and saves the queen!_ says a reply to her next tweet.  _Kiss her, dammit!_ says the one below it.) And yet it’s like watching someone else onscreen, suddenly, all her usual criticism of her acting gone and replaced with this sense that the woman onscreen is someone else entirely. Rose is a woman who looks like Emma but had found the son she’d never had. Rose is a woman who loves this long-lost son so deeply that she can break a curse for him.

 

She gulps back a sob as Rose kisses Jamie’s forehead onscreen. Mary Margaret is sobbing freely into David’s shoulder, and even Cora is beaming. There’s no applause, just wonder, and Emma tears her gaze from the screen to Regina’s anguished eyes. 

 

And Henry must have stopped reading then– or maybe that’s all he’d read– because he’s fixated on the screen still. “See, I told you, Rose is the one who…” He hesitates as Victoria rushes forward.

 

“ _No matter what you think,_ ” she begins, and it’s just as moving onscreen as it had been acting it out. Emma is transfixed. “ _No matter what anyone tells you, I do love you_.” It’s accompanied by a sad, resigned smile that’s all Regina.

 

Emma blinks away the tears that well up and feels Henry moving beside her, shaking his head. “She’s evil,” he says, and he sounds so young and confused that Emma tugs him down to share the armchair with her.

 

“She’s his mom,” she murmurs, and she sees from the corner of her eye as Regina’s head jerks around toward them. And she forgets the embarrassment of Victory Rose for a moment and offers her a tiny smile. Henry watches his mother with solemn eyes. “Not every mom is a hero.” Her own had abandoned her as an infant and she’d had a dozen others who’d let her down over the years. “But the ones who love their kids…they’re pretty great, huh?” 

 

Onscreen, Victoria is sobbing in Jamie’s room, clutching his pillow to her chest. “I don’t know,” Henry whispers, but his eyes dart from Regina to Victoria and back to Regina, and he presses himself to Emma’s side without another word. 

 

Victoria is Regina’s love letter to Henry. Emma’s known that since she’d met Henry, but Henry’s only beginning to understand it today, and he’s awestruck and overwhelmed with the knowledge of it. He doesn’t protest when Regina excuses herself with the boys before the after party, just rises silently and follows her out, his little brow still furrowed. 

 

The tips of Regina’s fingers trail along Emma’s knuckles for a moment as she walks past her, and Emma feels a frisson shiver through her and musters up a smile for Mary Margaret.

 

* * *

 

**in which emma tries to behave at upfronts.**

 

She reads a fanfiction after that, one marketed as  _Victory Rose family_ that draws out Victoria’s turmoiled relationship with Rose and their son and explores how they all cope with this newfound unconventional family. There’s no pornographic kitchen scenes in it, just some very descriptive kissing that has Emma squirming with vague discomfort, and the sensation of violation fades a bit once she gets caught up in it. And instead, there’s an aching longing in its place.

 

Jamie and Rose and Victoria all find _home_ together, fall in love with each other and what they can have together. Victoria doesn’t have to be angry and aloof, Rose doesn’t have to be lonely and neglected, and Rose runs but Victoria holds on tightly. Not that she wants to fall hopelessly in love with Regina like the fanfiction implies of their characters. No, it’s just the sense of rightnesswithin the story, of a greater narrative that she’s beginning to wonder about. 

 

She tamps down the emotion as soon as it begins to blossom. She’s an actress. She has to focus on what’s really happening onscreen, and it can’t possibly be… _Victory Rose_. This is nothing more than a dream of a select group of fans. To treat as any more than that would just be giving them false hope. There’s no way that this is Cora and Leopold’s plan for the show. 

 

David’s divorce is finalized just after the finale airs, which works out nicely with their network upfronts. Or so says Gold, who’s delighted to hear of Mary Margaret and David’s burgeoning relationship. “Our very own power couple!” he announces, examining each of them before they head out there. “Double the power couple,” he puts in, smirking at Regina and Emma.

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “Inspiring, Gold.” Emma flushes deep and long and resumes the whole not-meeting-Regina’s-gaze bit that she’s been doing since the fanfiction escapade. She’d turned down two hiatus invites from Henry already, but she isn’t ready to– She buries her face in her hands, scrubbing off professionally applied makeup, and lets out a frustrated groan when she sees it on her fingers.

 

Regina sighs expansively. “Another waste of time. Let me fix that.” She digs through her purse, emerging with a makeup brush.

 

“It’s fine,” Emma croaks out.

 

“Don’t be an idiot, I’ve been doing this since I was four,” Regina snaps, a finger already moving in smooth circles across Emma’s cheek. Emma squeaks. It’s all very humiliating. Regina’s hands are on her face and she’s half-caught between their own experience in that damned closet and the fanfiction she’d read, the descriptions of Victoria’s hands exploring Rose’s face as they’d kissed for the first time. 

 

She’s still warm all over as they step out onto the red carpet, Regina with her smile turned stunning as she steps out first and Mary Margaret with her hand on David’s arm. Emma had gone with a simple white dress that will probably be deemed  _boring but acceptable,_ one step up from the terrible floral number that Mary Margaret had chosen, but it’s Regina who drops jaws in tight red and black, the Evil Queen wearing her colors.

 

Mary Margaret speaks enthusiastically about her “new” relationship to the press, hanging onto David and posing for photo after photo, and Emma and Regina are left staring awkwardly at each other in the background.

 

Regina says, “What the hell is wrong with you lately?” with typical bluntness, and Emma blurts it out. 

 

“Did you know about Victory Rose?” 

 

Regina’s face creases for a moment, recognition flickering in her eyes; and then her face smoothes and she says swiftly, “What?” 

 

It’s too late and Emma gapes at her. “You…” she sputters. “You–“  

 

Regina turns smartly on her heel and settles herself firmly on David’s side.

 

(When the pictures from the event begin to come out, Emma slips into a side room and reads through her Twitter mentions to be sure that she hadn’t embarrassed herself too much. Instead, she scrolls through dozens of irritating comments about  _Regina._ Of course.

 

_Oh, look, they made Snowing come so @EmmaSwan14 and @ReginaMills wouldn’t have to stand near each other,_ reads the first.

 

_@ReginaMills @EmmaSwan14 Maybe a whole marching band between you next time?_ comes another.  _A continent? Can Emma Skype it in??_

 

_@EmmaSwan14 I REFUSE to believe that anyone would willingly stand that far away from a babe like Regina_ , says a third, and Emma flushes crimson and glares at the screen, jamming her phone into her purse and stalking from the room.)

 

* * *

 

**in which we take a moment before everything goes to shit.**

 

Emma’s been enjoying her time away from set. Kind of. 

 

She’d given up on making friends years ago, and it’s kind of great to have Mary Margaret now as the kind of friend she’d dreamed of when she’d been a kid. Granted, she spends most of their time talking about David, but she and Ruby make for good distractions during a hiatus that’s proving to be lonely.

 

Emma has always been a loner, but now that she doesn’t need a second job, hiatus is quiet and uncomfortable. Storybrooke is too calm for Emma to lose herself in it and find distance from her own thoughts, and she halfheartedly looks into auditions for other projects next hiatus and still can’t quite conceive of the idea that any other production might want her.

 

She doesn’t see Regina until SDCC. 

 

Henry sends her the occasional text and she gets glimpses of Regina’s life through them. She knows that they go on vacation to Niagara for a week and that they visit Regina’s father’s grave and there are way too many mentions of some friend of Regina’s named Mal for Emma’s liking.

 

Okay, maybe Emma and Regina aren’t exactly friends, but they’ve still gone out for drinks and done lunch with Henry a bunch of times. Late-night outings with some D-list ( _okay_ , C-list) actress are supposed to be  _Emma’s_ thing with Regina. 

 

Not that she cares. Regina’s an asshole. Right.

 

She can’t muster up the same disdain for Marian, though, who stops by with Jamaal a few times during the early summer and fills her in on her longtime friendship with Regina. “We’re basically sisters,” she says. “We met on the  _Barney & Friends_ set when she was three and I was eight and she wouldn’t talk to anyone but me during filming. Cora was livid, of course.” 

 

She rolls her eyes. “But she decided I was  _useful_ and doled out bit parts for me in her productions. I acted for a few more years before I got sick and tired of being Afro-Latina in Cora's industry and went into publicity instead. And now I represent my own son.” She beams at him and Jamaal rolls his eyes, but with affection. “I know it’s ungrateful,” she says, sounding a bit troubled. “But I do wish his first job wasn’t with Cora.” 

 

“Not you, too,” Emma groans. “Why does everyone on set treat Cora like she’s a snake?” It’s not that she trusts Cora completely, but Regina’s quasi-teenage resentment of her mother is beginning to wear thin.

 

“She  _is_ a snake.” Marian puts a hand on Emma’s. “If you aren’t careful, she’s going to use you and throw you aside when you’re no longer convenient. Regina’s looking after you.” She ventures a warm smile that makes it clear that she knows who  _everyone on set_ means, and Emma glares sullenly at the ground. 

 

“I can hold my own. Leopold doesn’t seem to have an issue with her.” 

 

“Leopold is also…” Marian hesitates. “He’s no Cora, but he’s very old-school Hollywood.” 

 

“What does that mean?” 

 

But Marian refuses to answer that, and Emma’s alone at the end of the day again, scrolling through tweets from adoring fans and refusing to dwell on how empty it feels.

 

She goes to the Victory Rose tag and then reconsiders, clicking on Regina’s Twitter instead and scrolling through her most recent selfies. Regina is deft with the fans but she still has trouble giving them her real smile when it isn’t in person; and there’s only one where she’s actually beaming, Marian and Jamaal beside her. Henry isn’t in the picture, of course, but Emma can sense him in the curve of the smile and the lightness in Regina’s eyes.

 

She stares at Regina's face and feels something calm in her stomach, and before she can think about it, she’s dialing Regina’s number. “Emma,” Regina says guardedly when she picks up.

 

“Hi,” Emma says, drumming her fingers against her keyboard. “How have you been?” 

 

She can practically hear Regina’s eyebrow arch. “You’re calling me at midnight during hiatus to find out how I’ve been.”

 

“What, I can’t call a coworker to say hi?” Emma leans back, lips twitching at the grimace she can imagine on Regina’s face. “I thought we were friends.” 

 

“No, you didn’t.” Now Regina sounds amused. Emma hears the creak of a mattress over the phone line, Regina settling into bed as she speaks. “Is this why you’ve been giving Henry such a hard time about Mal?” 

 

“He told you?” Emma says, outraged. “That was confidential!” 

 

“He’s _ten_. Nothing is confidential from his mother. And you use far too many emojis for an adult.”

 

Emma glances at the photo still open on the screen, Regina’s face soft and free and happy, and she grins and shuts her computer, swapping her phone to speaker. “Emoji are the language of the future, Regina. They set our tone in writing and make sure that the conversation feels natural.” 

 

Regina says, “There’s an emoji of two fish waving from a flagpole, Emma.” 

 

Emma opens her laptop again and types rapidly. “It’s Japanese! It stands for worldly aspirations and advancement in life!” 

 

“Are you quoting Yahoo Answers at me?” 

 

“…No.” 

 

Regina laughs. It rings out clear and bright in Emma’s apartment, and the room feels a little less constricting now, a little less locked in. "You're a _child_.”

 

Emma pulls off her top and climbs into her own bed, putting the phone to her ear again. “How is Henry?” she asks, the underlying question rising up and catching in her throat. 

 

“You’re the who’s been texting him,” Regina says, voice guarded again. 

 

Emma plunges ahead. “He seems– happier now. Like maybe he’s adjusting better.” 

 

She knows she’s pissing off Regina before the other woman says a word, and she isn’t surprised when she gets a terse, “It really isn’t your business how he’s adjusting, Miss Swan.” 

 

“I know. I…” She bites her lip. “I just want him to be happy.” Now isn’t the time for soul-searching conversations about being an orphan with no family who’d longed for someone to want her like Regina had wanted Henry. It’s certainly not the time to bring up the baby boy she hasn’t stopped thinking about since the finale. 

 

“I know,” Regina says grudgingly, and the conversation is over before it begins. “Have a good night, Emma.” 

 

“Good night,” Emma responds, sinking back into her bed. And she doesn’t want to leave it like this between Regina, so she opens Regina’s texting window and sends her a two-fish-on-a-flagpole emoji.

 

The response comes quickly in the form of an emoji that looks like a gold symbol Emma’s never seen before. _Explain this,_ Regina’s text orders.

 

_I wouldn’t even know where to start_. She punctuates it with an emoji of a barbershop pole. 

 

Regina responds with a flurry of emoji that make less and less sense the more Emma stares at them. Emma types, _You use far too many emoji for an adult_ and adds in a recycling symbol for good measure. 

 

She gets a triple knife emoji in response and snickers at her screen, scrolling through her emoji for a properly random one. (She settles on an Easter Island moai because really, what says _I’m not impressed at your emoji murder attempt_  like a giant stone head?) 

 

They go back and forth, the more obscure the emoji the better, and their comments just an excuse to keep it going. _You would use that one,_ Regina scoffs.

 

_Did you just send me an apple? Is that a threat?_ She sends a yellow taxi that could pass as Rose’s Bug back.

 

_The death trap. Charming._

 

Emma is running out of steam and emoji now, and her finger pauses over the rose. In a moment of inspiration, she jabs at the two fingers raised in a victory sign first, copying the Victory Rose emoji combination she’s seen on Twitter. 

 

Regina doesn’t respond to that, and Emma falls asleep still staring at her phone and waiting for a reply. 

 

In the morning, all she has is a stream of emoji before it and that final Victory Rose text, left glaringly unanswered by her costar. 

 

* * *

 

**in which everything goes to shit.**

 

Last year, SDCC had featured a screening of the first episode and a small crowd of mostly press. Emma had shown up and smiled a lot, feeling false and out of place, and the more seasoned stars had fielded the questions. Emma hadn’t even done many talk shows because Gold had pronounced her “too wet behind the ears for any publicity,” which had mostly meant that she’d spoken her mind too much for his liking. 

 

This year, she doesn’t have a choice. She picks out a dress with Mary Margaret and politely refuses Mary Margaret’s suggestions (Henry sends her a thumbs up for the choice she actually settles on, and a _Mom said no_ that she ignores out of sheer spite) and now she’s entertaining the press and posing for photos in a dress that’s far too formal for the event. She tugs up the bottom and Regina mutters, “You could have listened to me,” as she files past her. She looks stunning, as always, because of _fucking_ course she does.

 

“You could have actually texted _me_ ,” she retorts, following Cora and Leopold as they lead them into the backstage rooms designated for their panel. Regina rolls her eyes and stalks past her, making conversation with Lacey and Ruby so she isn’t trapped with Emma and the lovebirds. 

 

Said lovebirds are nauseating and kind of adorable at once, and Emma isn’t surprised when the first questions of their panel go to them. Mary Margaret pastes a smile onto her face and lies about the start of their relationship. “There was always a connection,” she says, beaming. “And once David’s divorce went through, we thought we could explore it.”

 

They’re promoting the curse now and talking about Victoria’s mother as a recurring villain on the show this coming season. Cora is effusive in her praise of the character and her twisted love for Victoria. The audience thinks it’s sweet. Emma watches the way Regina sits when Cora speaks, stiff and uncertain, and she doesn’t know at all. 

 

But mostly it’s just Mary Margaret and David, Cora’s grand statements, Leopold’s occasional verbal blunder, and Regina charming the pants off everyone in the audience. Emma answers the questions posed to her and Cora actually reaches out to squeeze her hand approvingly after one, so she thinks she’s doing okay.

 

At least, she thinks so until the moderator opens up questions to the audience.

 

And _every single one_ is about Victory Rose.

 

The first is for Emma and Regina, a question about how close they’d been standing in one episode. “Was that intentional?” the girl at the microphone wants to know? “What was your thought process when it came to acting out that scene?” 

 

And goddammit, it’s one thing to read the tweets and a totally different thing to see these hopeful faces and enthusiastic questions. These are fans who _believe_ in Victory Rose in all the ways that Emma tries not to, and she doesn’t know how to respond to any of it. 

 

She cringes because sometimes she does forget where she ends and Rose begins and it’s all too instinctive around Regina. She stumbles through her answer and Regina rolls her eyes at her (a dozen cameras flash in the audience at that fucking eyeroll and the gifs are already up on Twitter by the end of the panel) and she answers the question with a pat response about Victoria manipulating Rose. There’s a murmur in the audience and some applause.

 

The next question is for Cora and Leopold. “What made you phrase it as ‘how to get the savior to taste my forbidden fruit?” Another girl, this one looking terrified at her own daring, and Regina laughs and gives her an approving nod that manages to calm her.

 

Leopold just seems puzzled about the question. “Well, you’ll have to talk to Cora about it because it’s one of her episodes, but it’s…a clever pun? Because of…the apple…?” 

 

He’s never looked this confused before in the year that Emma’s known him, and Cora steps in and says swiftly, “It’s classic Evil Queen,” which is even more ambiguous than Leopold’s response.

 

Emma talks about their relationship in the coming season, careful how she phrases every word. “Rose is going to have to juggle Victoria-her-enemy with Victoria-Jamie’s-mother,” she tells one fan. She’s only seen the first script so far, which features Rose saving Victoria’s life, possibly at the expense of her own, and she feels comfortable saying, “And we’re going to see how she reacts to that in a big way.” 

 

Regina outdoes her, naturally. “Victoria and Rose have just been working together to save Jamie, and that’s going to change things for Victoria a bit. I can’t promise friendship, but we’re going to see Victoria begin to view Rose as a reluctant ally.” The crowd is louder in their cheers for that response, and Emma is irrationally jealous. 

 

They’re starting to wrap up when the final question comes. “This is for Emma and Regina and Cora and Leo,” the woman at the microphone says. “About the relationship between Victoria and Rose. The looks, the subtext…are you writing Disney’s first queer fairytale?” 

 

Leopold stares. Cora sighs. Regina smiles at the audience with a pained face that fandom will eventually determine is _hostile_. Emma chokes on her water and turns bright red and Ruby fucking _laughs_. _Fuck Ruby_. 

 

Leopold is the first to gather his composure, which is absolutely the worst thing that could have happened, because David is still clapping Emma’s back when Leopold begins, bewildered, “Well, Rose kissed the Huntsman and Victoria was in love with the stable boy, so I don’t see how they could be lesbians?” 

 

There’s an angry murmur shuddering through the crowd now, the audience subdued and the cheers few and far between, and Cora steps in. “We have much more in store for Victoria and Rose,” she says. “We love your passion.” She smiles, plastic and reassuring, her eyes hard.

 

“This _is_ eight o’clock on Sundays,” Leopold says, laughing, and Cora eyeballs the moderator until he hastily begins to wrap them up. The crowd sounds halfhearted as they cheer them off, Regina looks troubled, and Emma…

 

Emma doesn’t know how to look at them at all, so she watches Regina. 

 

And Regina turns as the moderator finishes up, also sounding perturbed, and she gives Emma what almost looks like a gaze of shared sympathy.

 

(Emma spends a lot of time on Tumblr and Twitter that next day– enough that she realizes that she needs some distance from the bitterness and infighting and disappointment– and she sees that gaze photographed over and over again. 

 

People speculate what it means– if it’s solidarity and discomfort at Leopold or if it’s discomfort at the “annoying Victory Rose fans.” Some claim that it’s just the two of them glaring because they hate each other. But Emma knows that after the panel, Regina had put a hand on her shoulder, long and somber, and they’d kept staring at each other until the others had made their way to the press room and the SDCC staff had urged them along.

 

And Regina had said, voice gentle and regretful, “It will pass. Don’t talk about it. Don’t tweet about it. Stay away from social media for a few days.” 

 

“How am I supposed to not…when they…” Emma doesn’t know why she _cares_ so much. Except that she’d seen their faces and she reads their tweets and she knows that what they yearn for is the kind of perfect story she’d have craved when she’d been young and–

 

She’s had enough of crushed hopes and being shoved aside in her life to wish it on anyone else.

 

“I know,” Regina had said, and she’d vanished to the press room before Emma could respond again.)

 

* * *

 

**in which emma makes some connections at an afterparty.**

 

“You do seem rather disheartened, dear,” Cora says, hand on the small of her back as she leads her through the SDCC afterparty. Emma had come with Ruby and Lacey and been promptly captured by a very determined Cora. “I hope you aren’t worried about your fanbase,” she says glibly. “We have plans for Rose in the future that should more than offset any loss now.” 

 

“Right,” Emma says, eyes narrowed. “Where’s Regina?” 

 

Cora scoffs. “Tucking my grandson into bed, I’m sure. She dodges these parties and tosses off every inch of her potential under the guise of _motherhood_.” She spits out the word like it’s a personal offense, and Emma winces. “If she’d followed the path I’d set for her, she wouldn’t have wasted the past decade on changing diapers and playing mistresses.”

 

“She’s really talented,” Emma says neutrally, feeling a bit as though she’s betraying Regina by listening to any of this. “I’m sure she’s going to gain a lot of traction from Happily Ever After.” 

 

A sniff. “Not if she won’t put in the effort. Now _you–_ “ Cora pats her back and Emma’s skin crawls a little. “You are my rising star. Follow me.” She guides Emma to a back room that’s just as full as the main hall, but with a different kind of crowd. Older, whiter, and…well… _richer_. 

 

Emma knows money like a mosquito knows the hand coming to swat it. She’s spent her whole life struggling on barely enough to keep a few items in her fridge at a time, and this new life of luxury still has her scrimping and saving and knowing that none of this is a guarantee of any kind of future stability. And this room stinks of money, of suits that cost more than she’d earned in a full year before now, and Emma gulps like she had the first time she’d entered the Blanchards’ home and wishes she could be anywhere else.

 

“Don’t be shy, dear,” Cora says, urging her forward. “Make some connections!” 

 

By _make some connections_ , Cora means _flirt with producers twice your age_ , and Emma obliges as best as she can and feels sick about the whole affair. She imagines Regina with them here, making dry comments and earning chuckles from people who don’t know they’re being mocked. Regina would be impossible in a situation like this, and Emma really, really wishes she’d been dragged along, too.

 

She manages a half hour before she slips into another room that looks empty and she slams the door shut and locks it, pressing her palms to the door and breathing in. It’s been a long, long day, between the crushing disappointment flung toward the VRs and the nonstop interviews and nasty tweets. _You don’t need to treat us like your dirty little secret,_ is the most recent one, and she closes her eyes and inhales shakily again. 

 

A voice says, “The blowhards party sucks, huh?” and she yelps, whirling around in her too-long dress and nearly tripping in the process.

 

There’s a woman reclining on a couch, grinning up at her, and she squints at Emma and says, “Hey, you’re one of the lesbian moms!” 

 

“I’m…what?” Emma says, her fingers twitching.

 

The woman laughs. “From the fairytales show. I heard about the fiasco earlier. There’s going to be hell to pay on Monday. I’m not bothering to go home tonight at all.” She yawns, stretching out across the couch, and Emma’s eyes flicker to the long, toned leg that she can see under the open slit of her dress. “Milah,” she drawls, her own eyes raking over Emma’s form.

 

Emma quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Emma.” She decides that Milah’s the lesser of two evils and sits on a couch opposite her. Milah rises and prowls around the couch for a moment, assessing Emma still, and then sits beside her. 

 

Her fingers trail down Emma’s arm, drawing up goosebumps, and she says, “You know, I figured you and Regina had to be a little in love with each other just from that level of chemistry.” 

 

Emma says, irritated at the suggestion, “Or…acting.” 

 

Milah watches her with knowing eyes. “I’ve acted, sweetheart. Might even do a stint on your show,” she says thoughtfully. “You can’t fake attraction like that.” She leans back, her hand now planted on Emma’s thigh. “So, which is it? She in love with you?” 

 

“No!” Emma says hastily. “Definitely not.” Regina barely tolerates her on a good day, and she’s wistful for a moment before she remembers that Milah has no business knowing any of this.

 

“So you’re in love with her.” Milah smirks at her, and Emma opens her mouth to deny it. Because yeah, she isn’t _blind_ , but attraction and love are two completely different animals no matter what Milah thinks. And whatever feelings Regina stirs are strictly attraction and a tiny bit of hero-worship, nothing more. 

 

Except instead of denying it, she leans forward and kisses Milah hard enough that it might shut her up, and Milah laughs and Emma attempts to enjoy this segment of the afterparty considerably more than she’d enjoyed the rest. Attempts to block out all the intrusive thoughts and emotions that she'd gone through today.

 

She thinks about Victory Rose, about hopeful faces turned broken and anger directed toward everyone they'd felt had led them on. She thinks about Cora's schemes and her dismissal of Regina and she thinks about Regina again, about fingers trailing over her knuckles and eyes fixed on hers and the sound of Regina settling into her bed at night. And she thinks about Victoria and Rose and Jamie finding home together and hates herself for imagining Regina and Henry and herself in the same position. She wants–

 

_None of it matters_ , she reminds herself, and blinks back tears that Milah doesn't comment on.

 

She parts from Milah on good terms very late in the evening. (Cora will be so pleased that she _made a connection_ , she thinks wryly.) “Good luck with that whole pirate bullshit,” Milah calls after her, and Emma nearly asks her about that cryptic message but is too tired to do much more than nod and smile.

 

She makes it back to her hotel with only a few hours to spare before her morning flight back to Storybrooke, and when she gets off the plane, it’s to a message from Gold instructing her to call him when she can.

 

The next morning, he has Emma read with the final three actors up for the role of Captain Hook. 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the last of my free time for the week lmao (it's only Sunday morning?? STILL) so the next chapter + comments + everything might be a bit later than I'd like. I will do my best! 
> 
> More non-graphic f/f + some uncomfortable situations at the end of this chapter (last time I have that planned all fic for Emma-without-Regina, promise) and a lot of allusions to child abuse.

**in which the awkward hand-stroking makes it onscreen.**

 

The first episode is one heavy on last year’s core cast, written and finalized before SDCC. Emma takes what she can get, knowing that the direction for the season means they’ll be split up for the next few episodes. 

 

“Ten episodes,” Regina corrects her. They’re sitting in Regina’s trailer eating pizza, two things that only happen when Henry is underfoot in the summer. “They’ve extended the plot a bit longer to insert some other arcs. Mother has been very enthusiastic.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure we’ll all suffer more for it.” 

 

There’s still a ridiculous amount of speculation about how much they supposedly loathe each other. And, well…they _do_ , right? But something has changed since SDCC, and maybe it’s just Henry’s presence but their lunches are less tense and as Emma’s surreptitiously eyeing the last piece of pizza, Regina says suddenly, “How about a quick rehearsal?” 

 

Emma starts. “What?” Regina’s notorious for refusing to run lines with anyone but Jamaal, and she’s made a point of it when Emma’s suggested it before. “Do we even–“ She cuts herself off. “Yeah, okay.” 

 

She doesn’t mention that they only have a few lines together this afternoon, and Regina seems perfectly pleased to turn into the taskmaster over the tiny moment they do have. 

 

“Again,” she demands. “More energy to it. How does Rose feel right now?” 

 

“Confused? A little irritated with her costar?” Emma says, blinking at Regina bemusedly.

 

Regina crouches, holding onto the pizza box and spinning it. “Try it again. Victoria spins the hat, and Rose grabs her shoulder.” Emma makes a grab. “Gentler!” Emma tries again. “No, not _that_ gentle, you aren’t _fondling_ it,” Regina glowers and Emma flushes. “Just…put it down.” 

 

Regina’s wearing a tee that had probably cost more than anything Emma owns, but it’s still thin enough that Emma can feel the smooth muscle beneath it and the arm pulsing under her grip. She sucks in a breath as she waits for more orders, but Regina closes her eyes and doesn’t move until Henry says, “You guys are being weird.” 

 

Emma does an awkward little stroking thing on their second take during filming and Regina looks at her in surprise, Victoria and Rose and Emma and Regina all perplexed at it at once. Naturally, that’s the take that the director chooses.

 

_Okay_.

 

* * *

 

**in which they commandeer a golf cart.**

 

On the day that Victoria sends Jamie off with Charming, Regina summons Emma to set for babysitting. It’s the first day they’re filming of the second episode, and Emma has two scenes within the whole episode. She’d been planning for a lazy evening, but instead she gets an insistent phone call at seven in the morning. 

 

“Isn’t this what you did for spare change before this breakout role?” Regina says scornfully, but there’s a hitch in her voice when she asks– okay, demands– that has Emma agreeing anyway. She takes Henry out on location with them to Victoria’s mansion, meandering past set fans and refusing photos this time.

 

“Who is he?” one of them asks, jabbing a finger at Henry. Henry’s hand tightens in hers and she ignores the question.

 

“I bet Peter Pan,” another says. “Did you see their Captain Hook?” They all fall into whispers and giggles, snapping photos before Regina's security team can step between Henry and the fans, and Emma can’t get back inside fast enough. 

 

They hang out in the living room of the house, playing Scrabble on Emma’s phone, and Henry’s eyes keep flickering to the stairs where Regina is preparing for the scene. She’s bent over, fingers pressed to her temples, and she usually recites her lines a dozen times before each scene but this time she doesn’t do it once.

 

“ _I don’t know how to love very well_ ,” she says when the cameras are rolling, crouching to meet Jamaal’s gaze. “ _I wasn’t capable of it for a very long time, but I know– I remember…_ ”

 

Henry is spellbound, watching his mother transformed and the depth still in her eyes. " _I’m sorry I lied to you. And that I made you feel like I didn’t know who you are._ ” Victoria is sincere, humbled by her own revelations, and she goes on carefully until Jamie bobs his head and runs upstairs.

 

Regina runs the scene that follows with David before Jamaal returns, and they do it all in one smooth cut that ends with Victoria in the doorway, watching Jamie and Charming leave together. “Cut!” the director calls. “Let’s get another take.” 

 

They run through it a few more times, Jamaal stumbling on a few and Regina as emotional about it each time. Henry doesn’t tear his eyes away from Regina until they’re wrapping for the day and Regina wraps her arms around Jamaal, whispering something to him that has him nodding and running off to his mother. She stands alone in the doorway, arms tight around her waist and head bowed, and Emma nudges Henry. “Go to her.” 

 

He looks at her as though she’s an idiot. “What?” 

 

“Why do you think you’re here, Henry?” Emma closes the game on her phone to catch his gaze. She nods to Regina again and Henry bites his lip. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but–“ 

 

Henry tosses her a scornful look, still his mother’s son, and he rises and crosses the foyer with tentative steps. “Mom?” he murmurs.

 

Regina blinks down at him and promptly throws her arms around him, clutching him tightly as he slides his own arms to her back. She’s shaking, her lips pressed to his hair and her eyes squeezed closed, and Emma thinks for a moment that she might fall over and runs to them, patting Regina awkwardly on the back as support. 

 

Regina says, “Get your hands off of me, Miss Swan,” but it’s feeble for her and Emma doesn’t move, not until Henry disentangles himself from his mother and Regina cradles his face in her hands and stands tall again. “Sweetheart…”

 

“We should do something fun today,” Henry says suddenly, little brows knitted together in contemplation, and Regina’s own brow furrows as she stares at him in befuddlement. 

 

He’s beginning to bounce in place, uncomfortable with the grim energy of the room, and Emma raises an eyebrow too when he says, “Just the two of us. We should…” His eyes alight on the golf cart that the crew had used to transport them back and forth between their trailers and local Storybrooke. “Mom… _ice cream_.” 

 

“You want to steal a golf cart and drive to Main Street?” Regina deciphers dubiously, but there’s a sparkle in her eye that makes it clear that she’s helpless in the face of Henry’s enthusiasm. “This is Emma’s terrible influence on you, isn’t it.” 

 

“Probably,” Henry says, offering Emma a toothy grin. “But wouldn’t it be fun?”

 

Regina shrugs her shoulders and then strides down to the golf cart, turning a few curious heads as she sits down in the seat and Henry slides in next to her. The two of them look snug together, whispering to each other excitedly, and Regina’s eyes crinkle with a kind of awe as Henry beams shyly up at her. They look like _family_ , and Emma waves limply from the doorway as they both turn to look at her from their spot in the cart. 

 

She’s glad they’re getting along right now, that Henry’s finally beginning to lower the wall that he’d put between the two of them, but Emma can’t tamp down the loneliness that comes from watching the two of them together as she stands alone and watches from the sidelines. They’re her…her set buddies, kind of, the kind of family she dreams of for Rose because she’s too realistic to dream of it for herself. Except no one’s writing their story and no one can ensure that it goes Emma’s way, and Emma’s no stranger to the story where she’s left on the side watching families she craves drive away.

 

“Hurry up,” Regina calls out, and Emma jolts, confused. _Is she talking to…_  Regina reaches over Henry to pat the empty driver’s seat and glower at Emma as though she can hear her thoughts. “Well, _I’m_ not driving this disaster on wheels,” she says sharply.

 

Emma says, still befuddled, “Me?” 

 

“No, _Grandma._ ” Henry has apparently picked up the sarcasm gene via nurture, not nature. “Are you coming or not?” 

 

Emma hurries to sit in the golf cart, twisting the wheel abruptly so both Millses scream as she hurtles down a well-manicured lawn. “Sorry!” she calls, a little bemused at her own eagerness. Henry is hanging onto his mother and Regina has a death grip on Emma’s wrist and the crew is laughing as they abscond with the last golf cart. 

 

“Stop sign! _Stop sign_!” Regina shouts, squeezing so hard that Emma’s surprised she hasn’t broken any bones. Henry laughs, music to both their ears, and Regina’s hand eases its grip on Emma. A very tiny bit. “ _Do not try to pass that car!”_

 

“Sorry, _Vicki_ , we’re on a mission.” Emma whirls around a corner and both her passengers slam into her, Henry giggling and Regina snarling something in Spanish that has Henry say “ _Mom!_ ". “Having fun?” 

 

“Yes!” Henry says, and Emma grins. She hasn’t driven a golf cart since she’d been at some Christian summer camp for disadvantaged kids when she’d been fifteen. She’d made a few of the “wrong kind of friends” and stolen one in the middle of the night, riding down to a lake to go skinny-dipping before they’d all been kicked out of the camp and sent back to the group home. 

 

That had been uneven ground and little hills and grassy bumps, and compared to that, Storybrooke’s streets are a breeze. She pauses at another stop sign and then surges forward again, yanking them to the right as Regina hangs onto her.

 

“ _No_ ,” Regina growls, bracing herself against the back of the seat and not looking nearly as angry as she does breathless. They zip along a quiet street, nearly uprooting a mailbox, and Emma’s eyes flicker to her two passengers bright with red-cheeked exhilaration (okay, maybe some terror) and feels her own exhilaration soar.

 

They pull to a halt in front of Storybrooke’s Any Given Sundae and spill out of the golf cart, earning curious looks from passersby. Regina’s breathing hard, and Henry says, squeezing her hand, “We’ve never done anything like that before.” 

 

Regina smiles, soft and longing, and agrees with only a brief glare at Emma that lacks rancor.

 

Emma checks her phone and finds a set report. _Emma Swan and Regina Mills with unknown child actor and driving away from set. No cameras, maybe rehearsal?_ There’s a blurry photo that she passes to Regina, who squints at it and says, sounding surprised, “Your clothes don’t look nearly as cheap when you’re driving too recklessly to be photographed.” 

 

Emma snatches her phone back. “Oh, shut up.” 

 

“You’re on a lead actor’s salary and you still can’t afford more than polyester?” Regina plucks at Emma’s shirt, her face gravely serious. “Who did your contract negotiations? Is your team _trying_ to sabotage you?” She gives Emma a critical once-over. “That would explain your eyebrows.” 

 

“My eyebrows are my best feature!” Emma says, indignant, and only sees the amusement creeping onto Regina’s face a moment too late. She’s being actively fucked with, _of course_.

 

Henry frowns at them. “Is this adult flirting? Because it kind of sucks. Can we get ice cream now?” 

 

“ _Flirting?_ ” Emma stutters out a denial and Regina just looks amused, eyebrow quirked and smirk in place as she climbs out of the golf cart and sashays to the door of the shop before Emma can lock the cart and tuck the key into her pocket.

 

Emma glares after her, still at a loss when it comes to the mystery that is Regina Mills.

 

* * *

 

**in which they take on other mothers.**

 

Ice cream is a surprisingly pleasant affair for the two of them, and Emma is only scheduled for one scene the next day but arrives early anyway, feeling good about her chances at another lunch with Regina and Henry. She’d finally ventured back to Twitter in earnest, replying to a few innocent questions from people with Victory Rose icons, and Regina had followed her lead and done the same.

 

Life will return to normal. Cora is still engaging with people on Twitter, making vague comments interspersed with discussion of her _support of diversity as a writer who’s written many gay characters_ , and Leopold is still blundering on and alienating Victory Rose shippers, but the fandom has shifted to the showrunners instead of Emma and Regina. 

 

Emma’s thinking about what they can do to send a message of solidarity to the fans when she nearly stumbles into a scene still filming. Regina is suspended in midair, her face tight as the actress playing Victoria's mother, Cordelia, croons to her. “ _Power is freedom_ ,” she purrs. Regina’s been made up to look like a much younger version of herself, and the agony on her face is less weary and more childlike, vulnerable and lost. “ _Don’t worry. I’m here to show you._ ” 

 

They do the scene again after that, and Regina tenses the moment the harness pulls her up, her hands flailing as though she’s really caught within vine-like branches. The fear in her eyes is heartbreaking, and Emma can’t parse if it’s all Victoria or not until the scene ends again and Cordelia’s actress wraps her arms around Regina’s stiff body. Regina still looks haunted, flinching away, and _now_ she’s acting with a slick smile as she presses her hands into the other actress’s and says something reassuring.

 

The director calls a break for lunch and Regina turns away, walking swiftly toward her trailer. Emma falls into step with her, glancing worriedly at her face. “No Henry today?” 

 

“No,” Regina says dully. “I’m really very tired, Emma, if you could give me a day off from your incessant badgering.” 

 

“Right,” Emma says, taken aback. “I’m just…here to shoot the Rose and Cordelia scene. I’ll see you later?” Regina doesn’t respond. She walks to her trailer and Emma watches the way that her shoulders fall as the door opens, her stride weaker than her standard Regina Mills Power Walk.

 

Emma goes to craft services, sits down outside it, and pulls out her script. She hadn’t read it very well, had skipped past the flashbacks as she’s prone to doing and studied only her lines. She’d read the final Victoria and Jamie scene, but she hadn’t thought much about the rest of it until now.

 

And when she closes it and reminds herself who’s written this script, she stands up and makes her way to the writers’ bungalows.

 

Cora is seated in her office when she buzzes Emma in, squinting at her computer screen in distaste. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another,” she complains, typing something rapidly onto Twitter. “These fandoms require so much coddling.” 

 

“Still that whole…Victory Rose thing?” Emma asks, biting back any other comments that might burst out. 

 

Cora sighs. “That and this new business with Neal Cassidy. They’ve gotten it into their heads that he’s been cast as Jamie’s father.” 

 

“Which he has.” Emma had protested it too, but Cora had waved off her concerns and gone right ahead with the choice.

 

Cora types again, another reply. “I have a biracial daughter. I’m perfectly aware of how the times have changed. And while I understand their desire to _have it all_ , change in the industry takes baby steps.” She nods to the photo she has framed on her wall, the main cast all together at last year’s photoshoots. “Jamaal being cast is progressive enough.” 

 

“But if both his parents are white–“ 

 

Cora continues as though she hadn’t been interrupted. "Do they want us to stop taking risks with colorblind acting altogether?” she demands, stabbing out another reply. “Come here, Emma. Stand still. Smile.” 

 

“What–“ Emma puts on a smile just in time for Cora to snap a photo and tweet it out, captioning  _Look who dropped by for a visit! Looking forward to seeing you all in a few more weeks for Season Two!_

 

“That should distract them for a while.” Cora swivels in her chair, smiling up at Emma. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about, dear?” 

 

“Oh.” Emma holds up the script, recovering her prior fervor. “You wrote this.”

 

“I did.” 

 

“It was a shitty thing to do.” She’d taken about ten seconds to decide whether or not she’s going to confront Cora on this. It hadn’t been a difficult decision, even if it might leave her as _punished_ as Regina gets when she questions her mother.

 

She waits boldly for Cora’s response and is absolutely stymied when the other woman laughs. “Oh, Emma,” she says. “You are so charmingly… _Rose_ about these things.” 

 

Emma’s fingers clench against the papers in her hand. “It’s this…this abusive mother spiel…You…” She doesn’t know how to accuse Cora of what she suspects without crossing too many lines. “You wrote…”

 

“Emma,” Cora says, standing, and she makes her way over to a couch across the room. She pats the seat beside her until Emma sits down, still warily clutching the script. “You know that I also got my own big break in my late twenties. I was working at the concession stand of a theater by day and I sneaked into an audition I was in no way offered. They tried to send me out of the room and I was dragged off by security, completely in character.” 

 

“That’s putting yourself out there,” Emma says, impressed and confused at once. “Did you get the role?” 

 

Cora places her hands delicately on her crossed knees. “I did. I dealt with a hostile producer and costars in a decade when women in Hollywood were treated as expendable if they proved to be fallible. I earned some acclaim and I was offered new roles, but I’d already determined that I didn’t want to be subject to anyone else’s whims.” 

 

“So you worked your way up to producer.” 

 

“We understand each other,” Cora says, inclining her head. “Don’t we?” 

 

Emma gets it. She lacks the same ambition as Cora has but she does know something about desperately seeking control when she has none. “Regina isn’t like us, dear,” Cora says. “Regina was born with all the opportunity and wealth that I had earned already. Regina doesn’t know what it’s like to claw her way up from the bottom; and frankly, she takes it all for granted.”

 

“I don’t think that’s true–” Emma starts loyally, but her voice wavers in its conviction. Regina wears wealth so easily that she’s never known anything else, and while she uses it as a platform that Emma respects, she’ll never quite understand what others have been through. 

 

Cora goes on, unbothered by Emma’s denial. “Yes, I was harsh with her as a child. Yes, I’ve written quite a bit of it into Victoria’s story.” Emma stares at her, wary and uncomfortable. “I’m aware that I’m going to be painted as the villain of the piece,” Cora says with serenity. “I’ve given Regina the same opportunities as I had and she still looks at me as a villain.”

 

“You’re making her relive–“ 

 

“I’m making Victoria a sympathetic antihero,” Cora says, and her voice now allows no reproach. “I’m making Victoria a character who will _last_ as this show’s legacy. I’m cleaning up the mess that Regina made for herself a decade ago. And you of all people should understand why.” 

 

“It’s cruel,” Emma retorts, confused and frustrated and feeling as though she’d lost the argument without getting to make it. “She’s been–“ 

 

“She’s a spoiled child who’s learning that she can’t manipulate everything to her favor when there’s a greater story at stake.” Cora rests a hand on Emma’s shoulder, frowning when she jerks it away. “And I hope that your flourishing little friendship isn’t going to have a negative effect on you, too.” 

 

Emma squeezes her fists around the script again. She hates bullies. She hates backing down. She also hates living on a paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle where she’s always one step from returning to a women’s shelter, and she can’t afford to trigger Cora’s vindictive nature. “Not a chance of that,” she says through gritted teeth.

 

Cora smiles. “Good. Now, I believe you have a scene to do.” She sits back at her desk, Emma summarily dismissed, and mutters at the computer screen, “Oh, lovely. Another petition.” 

 

Emma does her scene, still reeling from the conversation, and then picks out a salad and a chocolate bar on a whim. “Hey,” she says, poking her head into Regina’s trailer. “You must be starved.” 

 

Regina’s eyes are red-rimmed and tired and this episode is taking so much out of her that Emma aches and is furious at herself all over again for how ineffectual she’s been. But then Regina takes the salad and says, “Where did you get this, a fast food joint?” and she’s watching Emma with searching eyes.

 

“What?” Emma says defensively. 

 

Regina shakes her head, her gaze still…not quite warm, but wondering, as though she knows what Emma had just done and doesn’t understand why she would. _Right. The Twitter picture._

 

“It was a shitty thing to do,” Emma repeats fiercely, and Regina’s face clears a little.

 

“Yes, it was,” she agrees, a glimmer of surprise in her eyes. “I didn’t expect you to notice that, though.”

 

“You don’t expect a whole lot of me,” Emma says, stretching out onto Regina’s couch. She’d forgotten to pick up any food for herself, so focused as she’d been on Regina’s mood, and her stomach rumbles loudly. Regina tosses it an amused look. “You think I can’t figure out a mom like Cora?” 

 

Sometimes she thinks she’d have been better off with someone like Cora, who’d prioritized her daughter’s success with an almost fanatical interest. Cora might have only cared about her ambitions, but at least she’d _cared_ , and Emma can handle Cora’s brand of caring. 

 

Other times, she sees Regina’s face around Cora and the way that Cora would capitalize all of Regina’s vulnerabilities to turn out a good script and she thinks she’d have preferred any one of her fourteen foster mothers over Cora. Except maybe Number Eleven.

 

“I think you figure out a lot more than anyone gives you credit for,” Regina concedes, biting into the chocolate bar. She’s barely touched the salad, and when Emma’s stomach rumbles again, Regina hands it to her without a word. 

 

Emma hears a buzz from Regina’s phone and sees a text message appear on the face of it. She catches a glimpse of the message as Regina picks it up–  _You’re a grown woman. Isn’t it time you fought your own battles?_ – but Regina doesn’t comment on it, just reads it and sets the phone down again. “Thank you for the late lunch,” she says, straight-backed in her chair.

 

She finishes the chocolate bar and Emma makes her laugh twice with terrible Mary Margaret impressions and they don’t speak about Cora again.

 

* * *

 

**in which killian comes to set.**

 

She’d read with three people for the part of Captain Hook, and Killian Jones had undoubtedly done the best job at it even as he’d made her spine crawl. She isn’t in a single scene of his first episode, and if it hadn’t been completely absurd, she might have thought that Cora’s punishing her for her confrontation.

 

Still, though, she gets a _suggestion_ from Gold that she spend some time with her new costar, so she drags her feet and heads onto set, glaring at Killian until he stops leering at her. “That’s quite the display,” he says, trailing his costume hook down Emma’s left bicep. "I love a lass who can take me down singlehandedly.” 

 

“Take your hand off of my arm or that hook might be permanent next scene,” Emma says sweetly.

 

Killian grins, unbothered. “So you’re a fan of method acting!” They’re making their way toward the set fans now under Gold’s orders. He wants them seen together and to _make a good impression as a duo_ , he’d said, frowning and sighing as though he’d already been through enough with Regina and her.

 

Regina isn’t filming this week, either, and Emma sighs and entertains herself by imagining how well she’d take to Killian. Even more poorly than Emma had, she’s sure. 

 

The set visitors are different today, only a few stopping to take photos with her, and the rest all clustering around Killian. There are more of them than there’d been the past few times, in fact. Emma squints at unfamiliar faces and steps back, watching Killian entertain with his hook as the fans coo over him. 

 

And Emma has the uneasy feeling that Killian is about to change the game.

 

She makes excuses to leave as soon as she can, heading back to studio where Killian is due to shoot some scenes with the Dark One and their shared…wife, or something? She’d barely skimmed the script this time. These episodes have felt less like _hers_ lately, fewer stories about Rose and more stories about everyone else, and she can feel her enthusiasm waning. 

 

_Episode Six_. It’s her big episode this half-season, and she’s counting down the days until they get to it. 

 

“Miss Swan.” Gold barks out as she slips onto the stage. “Shouldn’t you be with Killian?” 

 

“I was.” She’s dismayed to hear the note of whining in her voice. “I did the first impression bit, okay? Do I have to do any more today?” 

 

“Give her a break,” says a familiar voice, and Emma’s mouth drops open. “Killian isn’t for everyone.” There’s a sly note to the voice, an implication that Killian is _certainly_ for her, and Gold turns and glares at the woman with warning eyes. 

 

“My wife,” he says, stepping away from her. “Milah. She has a small role in this episode.” 

 

“Your…” Emma gapes, her eyes wide. “Your…” 

 

Gold is beginning to look confused. Milah’s lips thin. “Why doesn’t Ms. Swan show me around set?” she says, seizing Emma’s arm. Emma nods dumbly, staggering under Milah’s insistent grip.

 

A moment later, she’s being backed against a wall in a closet, Milah’s eyes sharp and dangerous. “For fucks’ sake,” she snarls. “Do you have a single ounce of discretion in that magnificent body of yours?” 

 

“I… _oh_ ,” Emma is still at a loss, but Milah’s hands are already scraping down into her shirt, palming a breast as Emma sucks in a breath. Gold’s wife. Gold’s _wife_. 

 

She shoves Milah away. “Not happening.” 

 

“What, because of my husband?” Milah wrinkles her nose, looking disgusted. “You think he isn’t screwing his precious little _Lacey_ on the side?” 

 

“He’s my _boss_! You’re _married_!” Emma stumbles back as Milah prowls forward again, catlike. “I didn’t know–“ Somehow, the least complicated thing about SDCC had suddenly become the most complex, and she can feel the room closing in on her. “Look,” she says, forcing herself to stay calm and choose careful words. “This whole…kind of Hollywood lifestyle…I don’t do…”

 

She knows the moment she sees the offense darken Milah’s face that she’d chosen wrong.

 

“ _Lifestyle,_ ” Milah echoes, and she’s beginning to look dangerously angry. “Poor little street brat trying to play with the big girls and judge them.” She leans forward again, closing in on Emma, and Emma doesn’t know how to respond. It’s Cora all over again, Emma out of her league and incapable of reacting in any way that won’t get her fired. 

 

“Do you know what kind of jobs you’ll have in the industry if you piss off the wrong people?” she demands, her breath hot against Emma’s cheek. “Men want to see a woman onscreen and believe they can fuck her. Men don’t want to see  _lesbians_.” She hisses it triumphantly, with all the confidence of the woman who holds all the cards.

 

And Emma hits her breaking point. Milah’s threatening to _out_ her, to take away everything she’s built here with a few choice words. She’s gone through this in her later foster homes when she hadn’t been careful. She can’t do this again. “And your husband?” she hisses back. “What does he want to see when he looks at you? Because I don’t think it’s _me_.” 

 

“Funny, though,” Milah purrs. “I have decades of experience with handling him. And I know exactly how he’d take care of you if he found out about us. I hold all the cards here, Emma.” She speaks casually, spells out Emma’s outing and downfall as though it’s the simplest move in the world. “I can take away your job and your future and–“

 

Emma kisses her, just as she had the last time, but this time it’s out of sheer panic. She can’t hear another threat, can’t– can’t consider the idea that she’s going to lose all of this again. _Men don’t want to see lesbians._ It’s the second time that it’s become frighteningly clear that this industry isn’t a safe place for her. She doesn't have the money or the power or even the right sexuality for the job, and someone like Milah would hold all the power in their every interaction. 

 

When they’re done, Milah runs a finger along Emma’s face to her chin. “This kind of fight I can work with,” she says, grinning, and Emma reminds herself that she’s an actress and smiles back weakly. “I’ll be in town for a few more weeks,” Milah says, plucking Emma’s phone out of the jeans on the floor and putting in her name. “Look me up, yeah?” 

 

“Yeah,” Emma croaks, taking her phone and sinking to the ground. She’s still staring at it as Milah waltzes from the room as though every part of their interaction had been typical. And she doesn’t seem all that malicious, even as she spits out threats to Emma’s future as though they’re casual banter. This is just _how things are_ here, make-and-break people without a second thought. 

 

And Emma has nothing on her side, no one she can trust with any of this. Mary Margaret is a good friend but she doesn’t know if wholesome Mary Margaret would take well to any of this kind of intrigue, and Cora would call her weak and useless and cast her aside if Emma told her anything. She’s helpless, afraid, and alone.

 

And without any options, there’s only one person she dares take a chance on. She scrolls to Regina’s number with shaking hands, and waits until the other woman’s voice is on the line, irritable as though Emma’s interrupted something important. “Yes, Miss Swan, what is it?” 

 

“I need help,” she rasps out, and chokes back gasping, hacking dry sobs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting from my phone, apologies if any formatting is a little wonky.

**in which a past is revealed and a problem is addressed.**

 

She follows the directions she’d been given over the phone, Regina’s voice calm and measured after the first moment of silence. _Do you need me to come to you?_ She’d said no, even though she’d wanted nothing more than to say yes. _Henry and I had a brief argument and he’s…_ Emma can nearly hear Regina rolling her eyes. _Not leaving his room right now. Why don’t you come over?_

 

Emma’s never been to the Mills estate– she imagines an estate, large and luxurious like the Blanchard home, with space for Henry to run free and Regina to vamp around rehearsing as the Evil Queen– and she’s surprised when it’s an upscale but modest house, unobtrusive as Victoria’s had never been. The only part she’d been right about is the massive yard that she can see even when she pulls into the driveway and through the state-of-the-art security system.

 

She parks her car and knocks on the door, dragging her feet as she waits for a response, and Regina opens it moments later and eyes her critically. “You’re a mess,” she says, and Emma catches sight of her pale face in the mirror. “Come in.” 

 

Emma follows her to a kitchen and allows herself to be seated as Regina hands her a cup of cocoa. “Cinnamon, I presume. It’s all Henry drinks since you got him into it. Drink.” Emma drinks obediently. Regina returns to the stove, stirring something that smells spicy and delicious. “You’ll stay for dinner.” Her voice brooks no disagreement. 

 

Emma nods, twisting her hands and waiting for an interrogation. None comes. Regina sits opposite her and drinks her own cocoa silently.

 

“I think I’ve…I…” Emma bites her lip, suddenly afraid of how much to reveal. “I got into a bad relationship. I guess? I made a mistake and I think it’s going to be used against me.” 

 

Regina’s eyes burn into her and Emma flushes under the heat of the cocoa and Regina’s stare. But when the other woman speaks, it’s only with an, “Ah. They're blackmailing you?” 

 

The careful _they_ has Emma inhale again, slow and still skittish about that particular revelation. “Not yet. It was…it was something that was mentioned. I distracted…them…for now.” She blinks three times and stares into her cocoa, avoiding what she thinks will be judgment from Regina.

 

Regina’s voice is rigid, unyielding for a moment, and very, very cold. “Did you have a choice in the matter?”

 

“I think so,” Emma says, because Milah hadn’t demanded anything from her, had just been offended and attacked until Emma had wanted her to stop talking at any cost. “I’m…not sure. It was just really fucking shitty,” she says miserably, setting down her mug on the table.

 

Regina says, “When I was twenty-three, my mother tried to marry me off to Leopold Blanchard.”

 

Emma knocks over the cocoa, hot liquid splashing all over the table and Regina’s dress. “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. I’m… _Leopold Blanchard_?” She casts her eye around frantically for a napkin or a paper towel, and Regina seems unfazed when she hands Emma a towel and excuses herself to change. 

 

Emma scrubs at the table and stirs the sauce on the stove and Regina returns in a long cardigan, watching her from the doorway. “Leopold Blanchard?” she repeats. She knows Cora has been prone to setting Regina up with older, wealthier men, but she’d never thought–

 

“She announced it in gossip magazines before she told me, actually,” Regina says conversationally, opening the fridge and setting up vegetables for a salad. Emma stirs and stirs and stirs. “I’d been…well. Mother had wanted me to go for riding lessons to widen my repertoire and I’d fallen in love with my instructor. I knew she’d never approve of Daniel, so we’d agreed not to marry to avoid Mother’s interference.”

 

“But it didn’t work.” 

 

“It did, actually,” Regina says. “Mother thought he was a harmless distraction right up until we were approved for an adoption. Daniel had been training Mary Margaret back then and she’d taken a shine to me, and when she found out about the adoption, she went and told Mother everything.” 

 

So _that’s_ why Mary Margaret had been so convinced that Regina would have given away her own secret relationship. Emma focuses on the sauce, afraid that if she meets Regina’s eyes, Regina might stop. 

 

“Mother sent me to the Blanchards for dinner three times over the next few weeks. She claimed it was about making an ally in another prestigious family, and I suppose…” She waves her hand vaguely and chops peppers with a look of disdain on her face. “I supposed it worked out for her anyway. But I had no idea that there was an _engagement_ until I saw it in the paper with Leopold’s glowing description of his future wife.”

 

She doesn’t speak for a while, slicing a red onion with reflective eyes, and Emma sneaks glances at her and ventures, “What did you do?” 

 

“The only thing I could do. I called Marian,” Regina murmurs. “Marian looked at that impossible mess and saw a way out for me. We agreed that the only way this could end without making any enemies was to feed a story to the press about Regina Mills the gold-digger who’d bagged an older man to manipulate and leech off of. We destroyed my image, my future…made me undesirable even to the Hollywood gossips… Mother was livid. I was safe, thanks to Marian.” 

 

“Leopold didn’t want to marry you anymore.” Emma still feels nauseous about it, just imagining Leopold as a fifty-something and Regina a barely-adult bullied into the marriage. 

 

“He was very apologetic. Mother had her revenge, of course.” Regina’s voice is still light but when Emma looks up this time, it’s directly into haunted eyes. “I lost Daniel. I nearly lost Henry, too, and I _was_ in a rehab facility, but that’s a different story.” She clears her throat. “My point is…how long is your current contract with your agent?” 

 

Emma blinks at her, taken aback. “Until next March, I think. Why? You don’t think–“ 

 

“I called Marian,” Regina says. “She should be here soon. And I think you should consider having someone you can trust in your camp.” Emma thinks back to the understanding  _they_ in Regina’s comment and decodes as best as she can. 

 

“Thank you,” she says tentatively, and she feels gentle fingers on her arm, tugging her away from the stove as Regina’s thumb draws circles into the inner curve of her elbow. They don’t…there’s no hugging or reassurances or easy friendship here, not from Regina, but somehow the one familiar touch is enough.

 

Again, she’s led into another room, this one Regina’s study, and then there’s a knock at the door and Regina says, “I’d better go tell Henry we have company for dinner. Maybe that’ll be enough for him to acknowledge my existence again.” A wry, tired smile, and Emma lurches forward to comfort Regina but gets a shake of Regina’s head in return.  

 

Regina doesn’t come back inside. Instead there are softer footsteps, less stern and more comforting, and Marian sits beside her and holds her hand and says, “Who?” 

 

“Milah Gold,” Emma mutters, and sees Marian’s eyebrows quirk in surprise. “I think she…she threatened to out me.” 

 

Marian murmurs, “ _Fuck_ ,” and then wraps Emma in a sudden hug. Emma feels the tears that never quite fell finally emerging, pouring out in torrents that she can’t quite gasp back into herself, and she cries and cries until she’s all cried out and Marian is smoothing down her makeup with a handkerchief and whispering _It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I can fix this._

 

She asks Emma the same questions that Regina had, and the more people ask the more muddled it all gets. “I wasn’t…she didn’t force me into anything,” she repeats. “I just feel _dirty_ about it. I don’t want to have to pretend to be okay with this just because I’m afraid what might come next.” 

 

“Of course not,” Marian says emphatically. “I have plenty on Milah.” She smiles, mischievous. “Before I met Dwayne, I had my moments. And Milah’s always been one for _moments_. I don’t think she’ll give us a hard time now if I talk to her first.” 

 

She still has an arm around Emma’s shoulders, easy and reassuring, and Emma sinks against her and feels for a moment like it really might be okay.

 

* * *

 

**in which regina's back is a major focus.**

 

She sees Milah once more before the other woman leaves town, and Milah is serene, tossing her only a casual smile that might be apologetic if Emma squints. And there’s silence from Gold on Emma or her sexuality or any purported relationship with his wife. Marian had kept her word, and Emma begins tentative talks with her about being represented.

 

Spooked as she’s been, she throws herself into her work again. Episode Six comes and goes, and their focus groups return with a definitive preference for her. _Rose Captain_ has set sail, and Emma is bewildered and bolstered at her sudden influx of fans. 

 

There’s less and less of Rose herself, more of her with Baelfire and Victoria– and Hook most of all. Her newer fans are younger and vocal and already at war with their rival relationships, and Emma stumbles through the necessary PR for each relationship like the headaches they are. 

 

“It’s not that I’m not grateful,” she says, sinking down beside Mary Margaret in her trailer. “There are all these fans, but I can’t help but think–“ 

 

“They’re more his than yours?” Mary Margaret says it knowingly, leaning back against the couch. “It does tend to go that way. Some will stay for you. You do what you can.” 

 

The set fans are shifting now more and more, squealing over her and Killian in equal measure as they make their relationship preference known. They’re younger and louder and they adore Killian; and whatever he gets up to with them after set, she knows Gold is only making sure that it’s legal. 

 

Killian claps her on the back and squeezes some very enthusiastic girl’s ass before he goes in for Emma’s. The fans giggle. Emma says, “You touch me and I make sure that sword next episode isn’t a prop.” 

 

Killian spreads his arms, hands up and eyes alive with laughter. “She’s a spitfire,” he says to his fans’ delight, and he mimes an arm around her back as he escorts her back to set. “Gold won’t be happy if the fans start imagining that you aren’t playing, love,” he says in a low tone. “I do think it’s time we gained some familiarity with each other.” 

 

“In a trailer? Backed against the wall?” Emma finishes, rolling her eyes.

 

“Swan!” Killian looks delighted. “I was only going to suggest dinner, but you have higher pursuits!” He strikes a pose, handsome face twisted into a leer that would have his fans swooning. “I do love a woman who keeps me on my toes.”

 

He knows how attractive he is, knows how popular he is, and is utterly confident in it all. Emma lets his overtures roll over her after some time, settling into this new reality where he’s here for good and she’s going to have to play this game. She takes up the flirty tweets, responds in kind with her own, and speaks highly of Neal and Killian both when she’s asked about them. 

 

The Victory Rose tweets are getting quieter now, sparser and fewer between, and what Marian’s been calling The Great Gay Panic Of 2012 seems to have gotten its message across. Regina is still happily tweeting with those fans, comfortable in her utter lack of a love interest to promote while Emma blunders through two, and Emma watches her Twitter feed enviously. 

 

One morose day, she jots down a text and sends it to Henry. _Tell your mom she was never as bad as Killian._ Backhanded insults are the easiest way to get through to Regina without giving away that that’s her motive.

 

She receives a reply, curt and wry and certainly not Henry. _Miss Swan, you and Killian deserve each other._

 

_Rude_ , she retorts, sending a fish emoji back. 

 

But Regina’s followup message informs Emma that she’ll be on set the next day, and Emma takes it as an invitation and heads in at eight in the morning to discover that Regina is now shooting flashback scenes in studio with Killian.

 

“You fucking troll,” she says, spotting Regina leaning against the wall, talking to Killian as she smoothes down a skintight velvet dress.

 

Regina grins, smug and hopelessly endearing, and Emma grimaces at the way her heart jumps into her throat and settles there. “Ah, Miss Swan. What brings you here?” 

 

“My charming company, I’d wager,” Killian chimes in with a properly roguish smirk. 

 

Regina’s lip curls in pronounced disgust. “As one might visit a circus,” she says, shifting so Emma catches sight of her bare back in this dress, strings of diamonds dangling over the curve of her spine. Emma’s mouth is dry, her nails digging into her palm, and Regina purrs, “But maybe you can help us, Emma.” 

 

_Oh,_ she knows what she’s doing. Emma swallows and manages to keep her voice even. “I don’t think there’s a place for me in this scene.” 

 

“Killian is a bit… _off_ ,” Regina says slyly. 

 

“I am not _off_!” Killian protests.

 

“Run through his part with me, will you?” Regina’s eyes are dancing and she’s back to playful and dangerous and seductive, someone Emma can’t resist for an instant. Regina is the loving mother and the hard-eyed rival and the untouchable actress who can play them all like a flute. Emma steps forward, grabbing Killian’s script, and recites his lines, mimicking Captain Hook as best as she can. 

 

Regina moves around her, pausing opposite her and tugging her closer with Killian's hook until she’s mere inches away. “ _Care to join me for a drink?_ ” the Evil Queen purrs, and Emma lifts her chin and gazes helplessly into dark eyes. 

 

It’s torture, plain and simple. Regina is using the hook as an extension of her hand, stroking the underside of Emma's jaw until she shivers and murmuring promises in her ears, and Emma chokes out her lines until she’s gotten the measure of the cocky pirate and is moving closer herself. “ _Tell me what I have to do_ ,” she growls out, leaning in until she can feel Regina’s breath on her lips, and Regina sucks in a breath and doesn’t lose her composure.

 

Killian says, “So this is Victory Rose, then.” He squints at them as though he finally gets it, and Regina and Emma spring apart so quickly that Emma bangs her head against a fake wall. 

 

“There is no Victory Rose,” Regina says coolly. “Haven’t you noticed the men hanging off of Rose lately?” Emma puts a hand on her wrist warningly, and Regina laughs off her own comment, loud and forced but enough that Killian laughs with her. 

 

They do their scene well and in a few takes, if not with the same fire that Emma had felt when she’d been under the spell of that hook, and Regina is dismissed at midday while Killian stays for scenes with Cordelia. 

 

“This up-do has been giving me a migraine,” she complains, patting her hair as Emma pulls open the door to her trailer. She makes a beeline for her makeup remover, forgoing another visit to makeup in favor of getting home earlier. 

 

She stands in front of the mirror, patting down her face and wincing at the way her movements pull at her hair, and Emma reaches up to untie her hair where it’s swept up. “Better?” she asks, sliding her fingers through Regina’s hair until it lands on her bare back. 

 

“Much,” Regina breathes, and Emma watches goosebumps erupt beneath her fingers as they trail down to the first string of diamonds. Fascinated, Emma slips her fingers over the string and then below it, pressing her palm to Regina’s back. Regina’s breath hitches. “Emma,” she whispers.

 

Emma draws circles with the tip of her thumb, driving lower into the dip of Regina’s lower back and sliding back up along her spine. She closes her eyes, caught up in the sensation of Regina's slow, uneven breathing and the tiny imperfections of Regina’s silky skin. 

 

“Is this…” Her voice trails off. She doesn’t know what she’s going to ask. _Is this okay? Is this what we’re…_ She’s still skittish enough that she doesn’t dare do anything else, just run her fingers over an expanse of skin that begs for her lips to press against it, to start at Regina’s neck and trail down her spine to her sacrum and along her hipbone and–

 

Regina shudders and Emma’s eyes snap open. She can see herself in the mirror, her lips nearly at the base of Regina’s neck, and Regina has her eyes closed and her head tilted forward as though to give her access. As though she’s only just realizing what they’ve been doing, Regina jerks away, shaking her hair back and letting Emma’s fingers fall from her skin.

 

“We should get lunch,” Emma says, her voice too loud in the silence of the trailer. She’s pink with the sudden heat of the room, thick and overpowering and enough to give her a headache. “Do you want me to pick up something from craft services?” 

 

“I need to bring this dress back,” Regina murmurs, sounding almost mournful about it. 

 

“There will be other dresses,” Emma says breathlessly. “Fuck,” she says a moment later when she realizes what she’d said. “I mean. It’s really stuffy in here,” she tries. 

 

“Yes,” Regina agrees, flushing deep bronze. “We should…” 

 

“Yeah.” Emma nearly flees the trailer, her head and heart pounding hard.

 

* * *

 

**in which a clown arrives to perform at henry's birthday party.**

 

They don’t talk about that day again. They don’t talk about very much of what they’ve been through lately, not beyond Regina passing Emma Marian’s business card again and a murmured, _Everything settled?_ Emma had nodded shakily and Regina had squeezed Emma's hand and breezed off to her trailer again.

 

They finally shoot a scene together for the first time in months, and the easy relief between Victoria and Rose and the tentative stirrings of something like family have Emma scrolling though Tumblr again, watching as the _Rose Turner_ tag begins to shift with all her new relationships but Victory Rose remains strong.

 

Henry’s birthday is coming up, and Emma’s surprised and a bit gratified to find an Iron Man-themed card in the mail inviting her to his birthday party. Well, actually, Henry had written, “ _EMMA YOU SHOULD COME SO MOM HAS A FRIEND,”_ and Regina had crossed out _friend_ and replaced it with _colleague_. 

 

Emma can imagine her grim little smirk as she writes the next line,  _“I expect you’ll bring your full repertoire.”_

 

And fuck, Emma is so twisted around by this maybe-invite that she tugs her full clown costume out of the closet (she’d nearly burned it but had waited, still not confident enough to believe that she might have steady work after Happily Ever After) and puts on the terrible wig and the makeup and arrives at Regina’s house to come face-to-face with an Iron Man impersonator. 

 

“You already had an entertainer,” she says blankly when Henry stares up at her, wide-eyed. Jamaal is muffling a laugh with his palm. “That was an actual invite.” It’s still impossible to conceive of being _wanted_ , being someone that Henry or Regina would think of at family events.

 

And to top off her humiliation, Regina steps into the foyer and lets out a surprised cackle. “Emma!” she gasps out through her laughter, and Emma is probably doing a hideous sad clown impression right now. “You didn’t.” 

 

“You said,” Emma says weakly.

 

“It was a joke!” The Iron Man impersonator is eyeing them curiously and the other kids are beginning to murmur, pointing at her. Emma covers her eyes and doesn’t protest when Regina drags her by her elbow up the stairs and into the master bathroom.

 

Emma catches a glance of a tastefully decorated bedroom before Regina shuts the door to it and digs through her drawers for makeup remover. “Do you use anything special for…” She waves at the white makeup all over Emma’s face. “Something oil-based, maybe.” 

 

She sits Emma down on a cushioned chair in front of the mirror. The bathroom is split into a dressing room and an actual bathroom, and Regina pulls up another chair and wipes carefully at Emma’s face. “You were _joking_?” Emma says finally, closing her eyes again to feel Regina’s hands sliding along her jaw.

 

“I am a bit invested in your humiliation,” Regina concedes, but she’s smiling when Emma opens her eyes, eyes bright and the emotion behind them anything but malice. “You make a charming clown.” 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I was terrified of clowns as a child,” Regina says, warm cloth running along Emma’s lips. The tips of her fingers trail after it, parting Emma’s lips just a sliver. “I don’t think I’d have been afraid of you.” 

 

Emma makes her eyes wide and pulls out her best clown voice, deep and nearly nasal. “Hey there, little lady, I hear it’s someone’s birthday today.” 

 

“Little lady?” Regina echoes, glaring at her.

 

“Hey there, Vicki, I hear–“ 

 

“Victoria would set you on fire if you ever called her _Vicki_.” 

 

“So we’re back to Gina.” She’s seen it in their shared Twitter mentions from overly affectionate fans and had been delighted imagining Regina’s frustration. “How tragic.” 

 

And Regina doesn’t apologize for misleading Emma about the entertainment at the party, but she also laughs and pokes Emma in the ribs and then her eyes are gentle and affectionate, and it's an unspoken apology in itself. Emma emerges from the shower and finds a blouse and a pair of slacks waiting for her, and she tugs them on and ignores the way her heart wrenches when she steps out through Regina’s bedroom, wearing Regina’s clothes.

 

She also winds up challenging the Iron Man impersonator to a juggling match and rolls around on the floor with the kids, doing a pitch-perfect Thor and declaring war on Iron Man. He’s a good sport about it and Regina keeps laughing from the couch with a hand placed delicately over her mouth and Emma can’t stop. Henry is happy, Jamaal is more exuberant than he’s ever been when surrounded by adults on set, and Emma’s pretty sure by the end of the day that she’d show up in clown costume again just to see Regina smile like this.

 

They’re cleaning up after the party when UPS drops off a package at the door and Emma recognizes the brown envelope and signs for it. It’s a new script.

 

She flips it open while Regina is grudgingly playing Henry’s new MarioKart game with him– _grudgingly_ , she says, though Emma notes that she’s doing a lot of gloating for a responsible mom– and this script is…

 

It’s all _them_. Victory Rose is all over _The Cricket Game_ , and she swallows and calls, “Regina, look at this.” 

 

Regina sits on the arm of Emma’s chair, leaning down to peer at the script. She’s skimming the same lines– this scene outside Granny’s, the interrogation room, the confrontation at the end– and there’s so much to it.

 

“Oh,” Regina says softly when she reads the final page of it and spots Captain Hook’s name again.

 

“Yeah,” Emma says, and they’re staring at each other again like it’s SDCC and there’s something like understanding between them. Emma doesn’t know how Regina feels about Victory Rose on a good day. Regina holds it tightly to her, is open and loving with her fans but always careful not to single anyone out, and this is the first time that Emma dares believe that Regina might care like she does.

 

It’s that thing they’re not supposed to want– that thing they _can’t_ want, not if they do their jobs properly. It’s silly and impossible and Emma wants to believe in it so much that she’s awestruck at the same longing on Regina’s face. And then, a tentative, “We can do a cold reading if you'd like.”

 

Emma watches her, the uncertainty on her face, and it’s beginning to feel like a breakthrough. She doesn’t respond. She flips to their first scene together and reads, shaky and yearning, and Regina responds with the same aching desire. 

 

It _works_ for the scenes, draws out this new layer to Rose and Victoria that feels almost like friendship– and then trust, and then horrific betrayal– and Emma leans back against the armchair when they’re done and feels Regina’s hand gentle on her shoulder. “What do you see in it?” Regina murmurs.

 

“It’s…” Emma swallows. “It’s what Rose could have. Someone to fight for.” She waves vaguely at the script. “Something like a family. I think she must be so…” She struggles to find the words. She doesn’t get caught up in her character’s motivations often. It’s all instinctive to her, though she knows that Regina takes apart every moment of Victoria’s dialogue to grasp it. 

 

Emma _feels_ Rose, and dissecting her is a headache and a half that digs too deeply into her own psyche. “I think she has her parents but she doesn’t get to build that. She didn’t get to choose them or that family. And she’s still figuring out how to belong to that. But with Victoria and Jamie, she can make a place of her own.” 

 

She's speaking quickly, tripping over the words and embarrassed at the emotion clogging up her throat, but Regina slips her fingers into Emma’s hair and holds her still before she can look away. “I understand,” she says, her thumb tickling at light hairs at Emma’s neck. 

 

Emma watches the screen where Henry is steering Yoshi down Rainbow Road rather than looking at Regina. “I know you hate Rose. That you think it’s…that she doesn’t deserve Jamie or that family.”

 

“Rose means a great deal to Victoria,” Regina murmurs, and Emma looks up at her in surprise. It’s the most positive thing she’s ever said about Rose, and Emma leans back against the armchair cushion, gazing up at her and waiting for her to expand on it.

 

Instead, Regina watches her in silence, and Emma traces patterns into the side of the chair; her knuckles brushing against the underside of Regina’s thigh as they stare at each other with bare eyes, unrestrained.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter! I might be writing faster now that my busy time is over, but I make no promises other than weekly chapters. 
> 
> This chapter might need a brief reiteration of the early disclaimer- I am writing about Emma and Regina, not Jen and Lana. This isn't my speculation on the latter/their relationships with their fandom and is in fact very different from my thoughts on our rl actresses! :) 
> 
> Also, I've given up on any kind of uniform word length in the sub-chapters. oh well.

**in which emma is cut off.**

 

She has strict orders for the rest of the season. “We’re selling new power couples,” Gold says, leaning forward on his desk. Cora nods from beside him, hands placed gingerly in her lap. “You talk about those new relationships, you talk about Rose, you talk about whatever the hell you want. You don’t talk about Victory Rose. Understood?” 

 

“Not at all? But what if we have a scene–“ 

 

“Avoid where possible,” Cora says, steepling her fingers. “You still have a chance to recover from _that community_.” She cocks her head, eyeing Emma like she knows too much, and Emma freezes. “Do you really want to be typecast? Such a waste of a talent like yours.” 

 

She smiles a shark’s smile, giving nothing away but the scent of  _blood in the water_ , and Emma gulps and shakes her head. “No. Of course not. I don’t–“ 

 

She talks about RoseFire until her throat is hoarse, about the importance of the relationship to Rose and what Baelfire means to her even now. She giggles about Rose Captain and flirts with Killian in interviews and clenches her fingers against her knees until they turn white as she shrugs off questions about Victory Rose.

 

She does an  _#askemma_ because Gold complains that she isn’t being effusive enough and she carefully ignores questions about Victoria.  _@EmmaSwan14 describe @ReginaMills in three words! #askemma_ comes one question, and she starts a reply and deletes it in disgust because none of the words she wants to say can ever go out into the world.  _Dedicated. Thoughtful. Actress,_ she settles on, and feels like an idiot at the replies that roll in.

 

This break isn’t as lonely as it had been last year. She spends more than enough time on Regina’s couch, playing video games with Jamaal and Henry and ribbing at Regina as Regina happily makes snide comments right back at her. “Hey,” she says one day. “You two don’t have a lockdown on Victory Rose promo, too, do you?” 

 

“Yes,” Jamaal says, just as Regina says, “No.” 

 

They all stare at each other. Henry cranes his neck over the back of the couch to stare at his mother with suspicion and says, “That’s messed up. They’re trying to pit you against each other.”

 

“Not really,” Regina says mildly. “They just have less control over me than Emma or Jamaal. I’m sure my time will come.”

 

Jamaal says, “It’s bullshit,” and Regina snaps out his name. He slouches down, glaring at the screen. “It’s just… Cora says that everything I say is wrong.” 

 

“At least one of the adjectives you used to describe me isn’t  _actress_ ,” Regina says, and Emma throws a pillow at her. She bats it down to the floor, her eyes back on Jamaal. “Has she been making you uncomfortable? What has she been telling you?” 

 

Jamaal shrugs. “Dumb stuff. She has all these…I don’t know. Stuff she thinks will help me get more roles. Lots of reasons why I haven’t gotten any more. She wants to work on my _diction_ and she has these creams that she says will help with my acne and complexion...” He glares moodily at the screen. “She says she’s doing it for me. I wish she’d stop trying to help.” 

 

“I’ll tell her to stop,” Henry says, little brow thunderously furrowed, and Emma sneaks a glance at Regina and sees her stricken face. 

 

Jamaal bumps Henry’s shoulder with his. Regina says tightly, “Don’t do anything she says. You’re doing a wonderful job.” 

 

“Damn straight,” Emma says, bumping her fist to Jamaal’s.

 

Later, once Jamaal has left, she hears the furious conversation. _Don’t you dare– he’s a child–_ And angrier and angrier until Regina falls silent and her shoulders drop. _Good, then_ , she says, and it sounds like she’s won a battle but lost the war.

 

SDCC this year is a quieter affair. The moderator doesn’t ask any questions about Victory Rose, and the questions from the audience are about Rose's other ships. “I think Rose and Hook are kindred spirits,” she parrots from Gold’s cheat sheet. “We’re going to see that relationship develop in the coming season.” She grins at Killian, plastic smile firmly in place, and wonders when it had been that she’d started to feel like every fan interaction is a burden.

 

“Rose will always love Baelfire,” she says. “I can’t wait for Rose to have a boyfriend!” she says.  _I hate this, I hate this, I hate this_ , she thinks, and hates how terrified she is of losing her job. Cora sits beside her with a satisfied smile on her face and Regina sits across the stage, her eyes boring into Emma’s each time they’re given a question.

 

Her Twitter notifications shouldn’t come as a surprise, but somehow they do. She’s sitting on a couch in their private room before going in for the media run and she makes the mistake of looking and it’s–

 

It’s a lot of happy fans, Rose Captain fans complaining about her comments on Baelfire but gleeful about the teases for a new season. It’s a lot of quotes and photos and maybe she wouldn’t even see the anger if she hadn’t sought it out, if she hadn’t looked desperately for anyone with a Victoria or Victory Rose icon. If she hadn’t wanted to hurt with them. 

 

Their comments are scathing, bitter, mocking. They’ve taken apart every word she’s said and when she dares click on the  _#Victory Rose_ Tumblr page that she has bookmarked on her homepage, it’s even worse. 

 

_We’ll always have Regina, at least, even if Emma is a boy-crazy asshole who’d rather treat us like a dirty little secret._

 

_Doesn’t she know that we’re out here? Does she think she can pretend that we don’t exist now that she has the fanbase she wants?_

 

_She must be closeted. It’s the only reason she overcompensates like this,_ says a post.  _No way, she’s hot for Killian and it’s getting embarrassing_ , is the reblog.  _Save me from the heterosexuals,_ comes the third comment on the post, and Emma curls her knees to her stomach and blinks back stupid, burning tears.

 

She’s lost them. Cora will be so pleased. And Emma can’t help but feel as though she’s given up a family like this, rejected and been rejected in turn when she’d never wanted to do any of it. She's broken them when she wants nothing more to belong with them, and now they're all angry and hurt and...

 

Empty. 

 

“It gets better,” Mary Margaret says, edging over like a terrible cliche in a mass of cliches. “The fans never do take well to us changing our direction in promotion.”

 

“I’m not–“ Emma sniffles loudly, to her own horror. Regina’s head is turning across the room and she doesn’t deserve any of the resentment pulsing through Emma right now but Emma can’t  _stop_ it. “I just wish I could…send up a signal, you know? Let them know I’m with them– that I’m on their side,” she corrects hastily. “I hate this.” 

 

“You’ll have new fans,” Mary Margaret says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “They’re all over my Twitter notifications, too. ‘Tell us about Emma and Killian! Are Rose and Hook going to kiss soon?’” She sighs dramatically. “It’s like they don’t even care about David and me anymore.” But there’s a hint of resentment gleaming in her eyes, too.

 

Emma senses rejection as it builds up, with every strained smile and every quiet jealousy, and she rushes to comfort Mary Margaret before she loses someone else. The fans cutting her off–  _writing her off_  as unsalvageable, as someone too different from them to ever be theirs– it hurts like it does being thrown out of houses where she hadn’t pleased everyone, like giving away a baby because she’d had no other options. 

 

She wants their family, too, more than anything. She wants to be right there with them. She wants to comfort them. She wants to write something–  _anything_ – except they’re already being pulled into the press room and Cora is eyeing her like she knows that Emma’s about to break from the script, and Emma thinks that this day can’t get any worse.

 

It does, of course, and years later, Emma can pinpoint everything that follows as a direct result of this one thing.

 

Mary Margaret tells a secret.

 

* * *

 

**in which mary margaret tells a secret.**

 

They’re wrapping up in the press room. They’ve done some separate interviews but now they’re doing tables, smaller magazines and gossip blogs and the little blurbs that give them minor buzz until the larger interviews roll in. Regina is with David and Emma is with Neal and Killian, playing them off each other as best as she can and joking about love triangles as Cora’s eyes fixate on her from across the room.

 

Mary Margaret is supposed to be with Regina and David, but she’s excused herself for a moment. Not that Emma spends most of her time glancing over at Regina’s table. _Nope_. She is very invested in this long, dull game of men posturing over their fictional characters.

 

She turns the conversation to Rose’s parents and the abandonment issues that are supposed to come up in Neverland, and she waves toward their table. “There’s going to be this great moment between Rose and Snow where Rose admits that she’s–“ She freezes. 

 

Mary Margaret has returned to the room, and she isn’t alone. 

 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to–“ Henry says, eyes flickering around the room, but Mary Margaret cuts him off. 

 

“He skinned his knee. I wanted to bring him to his mom,” she says loudly, gesturing to Regina. Regina freezes, deer-in-the-headlights.

 

Emma bounds across the room, ready to claim Henry as her own son if need be. She knows that Regina is absurdly private about Henry, has kept him a secret for years with a horde of lawyers and non-disclosure agreements, and Mary Margaret has just–

 

The gossip blogger interviewing Regina says, “ _Mom_?” and it’s too late. Henry’s eyes are on Regina’s and Regina’s eyes are on Henry, wide and horrified, and there aren’t enough lawyers in the world to keep this kind of secret within the press.

 

And it’s _big news_ , bigger than Emma would have thought. Regina Mills is still a huge deal even if she’s broken from movies to do genre TV, and Regina Mills hiding a son is even bigger news. They tear apart everything; his school records, his adoption records, his every skinned knee and sprained ankle, and it all happens over the course of days. Regina is harrowed, pursuing some kind of lawsuit against Mary Margaret and some other action that she hasn’t clarified for Emma.

 

Emma catches her wrist one night and says, “Let me _do_ something.” Regina’s been pacing through her kitchen for hours, snapping at people on the phone and hiring more and more security to terrorize the paparazzi camped out in front of the house. The fans have been appropriately distracted from maligning Emma to speculate on this turn of events, and Emma’s been hovering at Regina’s for days, determined to make sure that she doesn’t do anything too extreme. 

 

Henry sits on the couch in the next room, pale-faced and attentive as he listens to his mother’s ranting, and Emma tosses him a worried glance before she returns to Regina. “Please,” she whispers.

 

Regina’s eyes settle on her for an instant and she shakes her head. “There’s nothing to do. My lawyers will–“ 

 

“Your lawyers won’t make sure that you don’t have a nervous breakdown.” 

 

“I have very good lawyers,” Regina shoots back, unimpressed. 

 

“Okay.” Emma squeezes Regina’s hand in hers and feels her pace become a little less frenetic, a little less panicked. “Let me make sure that _Henry_ doesn’t have a nervous breakdown. You’re scaring him.” 

 

She thinks Regina might snap at her, but instead her eyes soften and she slumps against the counter and says, “I know. I don’t know what else to–“ 

 

“Let me take him away from here,” Emma suggests, and Regina’s eyes are panicked again when she looks at Emma. Emma runs a soothing thumb along Regina’s wrist. “Away from the paps and the lawyers and your neuroses. You can send a security team with him, but let me take him to my place and I swear I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

 

Regina breathes out. It’s the first sound of relief Emma’s heard from her since SDCC, and Emma would be struck by it if she weren’t so stunned by the trust glowing in Regina’s eyes. “Thank you,” Regina says.

 

* * *

 

**in which they have an unexpected visitor.**

 

Henry says, “She’s ashamed of me,” and stares glumly at the computer screen. He’s been reading every interview and article that’s come out since the news of his existence had broken, every post maligning his mother and every post digging up more and more of his past.

 

“ _No_ ,” Emma’s quick to correct him. “No, she would never be. She just– for some reason, it’s very important to her that you remain private. She once locked herself in a closet with me so you wouldn’t think that she was…” She realizes too late that that story might have the opposite of her desired effect and clears her throat. “She loves you,” she says instead. “You know that.” 

 

It’s Day Four of their stay together. Regina’s security team is stationed around the apartment building and she has tutors coming in to make sure Henry is all caught up with school, but it’s beginning to feel bleak in Emma’s blank-walled apartment. “We could redecorate today,” she suggests, watching the way his eyes slide across the impersonal room.

 

Henry shrugs. “Haven’t you lived here for, like, more than a year? Why does it still look so…” He waves around at it, out of words. 

 

“I don’t know.” She’s never tried very hard to make any of her apartments a _home_. Homes are for families and love and all the things Emma had given up on a long time ago, not temporary apartments that make no difference in the long run. “But that could be a fun activity, huh? We could ask Claude to pick up some stuff for us and…” Her voice trails off at the look on Henry’s face. “Or we could sit around and stare at another dozen articles about your life.” 

 

“Whatever.” Henry returns to the screen, his eyes determined, and Emma sighs and settles back down onto the couch. 

 

This lawsuit is getting angrier, Mary Margaret on the defensive and Regina hard and angry and Cora and Leopold both begging her to shut it down. It’s terrible publicity for the show and it’s terrible for Regina, who looks more and more exhausted each night when she comes by to say goodnight to Henry. “I love you,” she whispers, gathering his limp body into her arms. “Please never forget that. I love you so much.” He stands in her embrace, uncertain and afraid.

 

Emma says after he’s out, “Is it worth it?” They’re drinking wine, Regina gulping it down like she’s needed it all day, and her head and thoughts feel slow and heavy with it.

 

Regina laughs bitterly. “Of course it’s worth it. _He’s_ worth it. You have no idea what I’ve…”

 

“Neither does he,” Emma points out. “He’s been scared and confused and you haven’t told him–“ 

 

Regina squints at her, unsteady in her seat. “Are you giving me parenting advice?  _You_?” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, me who gave up a kid for adoption and never saw him again.” It stings, but it’s dulled by the wine. Emma bites on her lip so Regina never sees it waver.

 

But Regina is staring at her with sudden sharpness through the wine haze. “I only meant that you’re an overgrown child,” she says, patting Emma’s arm awkwardly. “You’re good with him.” 

 

Emma doesn’t know what to respond to that, so she slumps back in her seat and waits for Regina to talk again. She doesn’t disappoint. “Leopold wants me to drop the case because Mary Margaret is getting engaged to David,” she says darkly. “So she doesn’t have any stressors when she’s planning a wedding.” 

 

Emma says, her thoughts blurry and muddled, “That’s pretty fucking selfish,” and they clink their glasses together. “Doesn’t he owe you one?”

 

“That’s why it’s a request, not a threat,” Regina mutters. “Mother insists that I need to _get over_ what happened last time. As though it was a tiny road bump and not the hell she put me through. She insists that a restraining order will be enough when we can’t even _find_ her.”

 

“Find who?” Emma isn’t sure if they’ve already covered this topic or if it’s another strange turn in this half-tipsy conversation. 

 

Regina burrows her toes into Emma’s thigh and says in a low rumble. “There’s no point. She’ll find us. She always…” She pitches forward, her head settling against the back of the couch, and Emma slides her fingers through Regina's hair until Regina closes her eyes. “Tired.” 

 

“You can take my bed,” Emma offers. She isn’t going to let Regina drive home like this. Her heart does all kinds of prickly things at the thought of Regina in her bed in her useless impersonal room, and she swallows hard and wishes for the first time that she’d thought to decorate it.

 

Regina shakes her head, groaning at the sensation. “Can’t. Meeting in the morning.”

 

“Let Claude take you home, then,” Emma offers. The security guard lurking in the hall is a loan from Regina, watching over Emma and Henry and making sure that no one enters or leaves the apartment without being vetted. “It’s nearly midnight. We’ll be fine for a few minutes without him.” 

 

“Right.” Regina is limbless like this, draped over Emma like she’s a heavy coat, and Emma strokes her cheek and stares at her lips until Regina grumbles, “Miss Swan, you’re being very forward.”

 

“I’m a little drunk,” Emma admits, and Regina lurches forward like she might kiss her but instead vomits a delicate little puddle onto Emma’s coffee table. “Ew. Go home.” 

 

“Charming as always.” But Regina bounds obediently for Claude, letting him catch her and guide her to the stairwell as she mumbles orders at him. Emma shuts the door, leaning against it and breathing in as she prepares to scrub at the vomit. 

 

There’s a knock at it, and Emma spots Regina’s purse still lying on the couch. Right. She opens the door, squinting at Regina–

 

–Not Regina.

 

The woman in front of her is in a wig and sunglasses in the middle of the night. “Hello,” she says, smiling at Emma with pursed lips. “I’m here for my son.” 

 

“Your– what?” The woman shoves her, taking advantage of Emma’s inebriation to send her toppling over, and Emma scrambles after her as she charges for the bedroom.

 

“Henry!” she shouts. “Henry, it’s me!” Emma yanks her by the ankle and sends her toppling down for a moment, but the woman kicks her in the face and bolts for the door.

 

She gets Emma’s bedroom instead of the guest room, and Emma hits a button on the intercom and punches the woman in the gut. “Who the hell are you?” she demands, but she already knows. Knows  _I’m here for my son._ Knows  _She’ll find us. She always…_

 

And it’s too late. Henry is opening the door, bleary-eyed as he stares at them, and Emma freezes as the woman charges forward. Henry flinches back. “Who are you? What did you do to Emma?” he demands.

 

The woman’s face lights up like a stage come to life. “Henry,” she breathes. “I’m your mother. They told me you were dead.”

 

“What?” Henry stares at her. “What are you… Are you my birth mom?” 

 

Emma freezes. Henry freezes. The woman nods tearfully. “Yes, Henry. Yes, and I’ve spent so many years trying to get you back. They said you’d died as a baby.” 

 

“I was in a car accident,” Henry says, and Emma can see his curious eyes flicker to the woman. “My dad was killed. Mom and I were hurt but we got better. You’re really…?” He takes a step forward, so much hope on his face, and Emma is overwhelmed again. This could be a fraud. This could be…but she recognizes the yearning on the woman’s face, the moment of connection and what it could mean for both of them. What it had meant for Rose.

 

“I’m really her,” the woman says, her face like sunshine through the clouds, and Emma swallows and thinks of Regina, terrified of this woman and talking about restraining orders as though she’d known all along that the birth mother had been a viable risk. “That _woman_ stole you from me.” She spares one look of pure loathing at the thought of Regina and Emma wonders for an instant– “She isn’t your mother. I carried you for nine months!” 

 

Henry’s brow wrinkles, looking past the woman to the doorway, and a calm voice says, “Henry, come to me.” 

 

It’s Regina, Claude behind her, and her eyes are clear and sober now. “Henry,” she says again. “That woman is dangerous. Please, come to me.” She’s shaking, a hand at her stomach and another reaching out to Henry, and Henry hesitates.

 

“You have your father’s eyes,” the woman whispers. “I’ve missed you for so long.” 

 

“Sweetheart. You need to step away from her.” Regina speaks evenly, fear dancing through her eyes. “Trust me,” she says, and Emma doesn’t know if it will be enough. If Henry after all this time trusts Regina enough.

 

“She took you from me,” the birth mother hisses. “She made me think you were _dead_. We could have been together. We’re going to be together forever now.” 

 

“You are so full of it,” Regina growls, something dangerous in her eyes. She reins it in, eyes back on Henry. “It was a closed adoption,” she says. “I have never, ever lied to you about that. Henry, please, walk to me.” 

 

Henry stares between them again, his eyes hungry when he looks at his birth mother and hesitant around Regina. Emma creeps forward from her place on the floor, edging toward Henry and the woman who’s captivated him so. Claude says, “I can just–“ 

 

“No risks with her,” Regina snaps. “I just… _Henry_ ,” she whispers again, her voice wavering. “Please, Henry–“ 

 

Henry bolts for her in a rushed decision and Emma closes her hand around the woman’s ankle, again, feeling another kick slam into her mouth as Claude crosses the room and grabs the woman. Reinforcements pile into the apartment, the half-dozen security men that Regina had had staking out Emma’s apartment, and Emma licks at a bloody lip and struggles to squirm away from being trampled.

 

Regina is hugging Henry to her and Henry is crying in her arms, clutching her tightly like Emma’s never seen him do again and whispering _Mom, Mom,_ into her shoulder. _Good,_ Emma thinks, and then there are feet crossing the room and Regina dropping to the floor, Henry still under one arm, her eyes fierce and worried. “Emma,” she whispers.

 

“I’m fine,” Emma says, tasting more blood. She grins weakly. “Hey, you two okay?” 

 

“I forgot my purse,” Regina says, and begins to cry with Henry, silent tears slipping down her face. Henry burrows into her side again, red-eyed and scared as he watches his birth mother taken from the apartment, and Emma lays a hand on their joined ones and curls up beside them against the side of the couch. 

 

“Mother tracked her down the first time,” Regina murmurs, one hand still in Henry’s and the other stroking Emma’s leg absentmindedly. “She was still angry about the marriage I’d sabotaged. And so she gave this…highly unstable woman all of Henry's information and told me to clean up that mess, too.” 

 

“She wanted to meet me before?” Henry asks, his voice small.

 

“She stalked us, honey,” Regina says. “She waited outside our house and watched us through the windows and when we called in security, she tried forcing us to give you to her by cornering us on a dark road and smashing her car into ours. She killed Daniel. Mother and her meddling and _that woman_ killed Daniel.”

 

“Oh, god,” Emma manages, and Regina blinks at her and her bloody mouth and stands up, searching for a first aid kit. “Top shelf in the bathroom. That’s why you’ve been hiding Henry?” 

 

“I never meant to _hide_ you,” Regina says, settling down beside them again. Henry rests his head against her shoulder, watching as she dabs at Emma’s lip. “After Daniel and once you were out of the hospital, I was in that rehab facility for a long time. _Physical_ rehab,” she clarifies, glaring at Emma.

 

“I didn’t say anything!” 

 

A finger is pressed to her lip. “Shh. You might need stitches. We could have matching scars.” Emma stays very quiet, Regina tracing mindless patterns along the curve of Emma’s mouth. “I was terrified and alone and I didn’t know who to trust. Certainly not my mother. And the birth mother had vanished with that car wreck. I didn’t want you to know about it, Henry.” She takes his hand again. “I didn’t want you to hear about this woman. If you wanted to…if she’s someone you still want to meet…we can talk about that.” She holds herself stiffly, eyes fearful on Henry.

 

Henry says, “I don’t know,” and closes his eyes. “I’m just so tired.” 

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Regina promises. “I’ll tuck you in.” He’s twelve and too old for it but he doesn’t protest it, not tonight, and Emma leans against the doorway of the guest room and watches Regina kiss his forehead and whisper a promise into his ear. “I love you,” she says.

 

He stares up at her and says, almost shyly, “I love you, too,” and Emma’s heart twists in her chest until it’s a struggle to breathe from all the love and bare emotion in the room. She backs out, remembering the vomit on the coffee table, and focuses on cleaning that up instead of thinking how it must be to be so _wanted_ , to feel the way Regina and Henry do and have all that love to spare. 

 

She inspects herself in the mirror and discovers that the injury that Regina has been fussing over is a simple split lip, and she rolls her eyes and ignores the way her heart warms instead. Never mind the stitches, then. 

 

She’s setting up a pillow and blanket on the couch when Regina comes out of Henry’s room at last. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Swan,” she says. “You’re not sleeping on the couch with a potential concussion.” 

 

“Maybe I was setting it up for you,” Emma retorts, and Regina rolls her eyes and drags her to her room, watching her like a hawk until Emma tugs out pajamas and yanks off her shirt. She can see Regina turned away from her in the mirror, a light pinkness on her cheeks as she waits for Emma, and Emma tosses her a pair of pajamas.

 

Regina eyes them critically. “Pass,” she says, sliding off her jacket and settling down on the bed. “Now sleep.” She’s still a little shaky in her movements, still sitting too stiffly to be calm after the night they’d had, and Emma reaches to touch her thigh reassuringly.

 

Regina trails absentminded fingers along Emma’s lips, gentle and probably meant to be solicitous instead of setting them on fire. Instead, sleep seems even more elusive and Emma is breathing faster, her heart pounding and her mind alive with need. She can imagine parting her lips and sucking gently on a finger, can imagine Regina’s intake of breath and the way she’d lean in. She can imagine capturing one hardened nipple from where Regina is bent over her and sucking on it through her shirt, drawing a groan or a whimper from Regina. She can…

 

She drifts off, and wakes up in the morning with Regina in the kitchen making coffee and the blanket she’d laid on the couch untouched. 

 

* * *

 

**in which emma loses every last vestige of chill.**

 

Mary Margaret announces her engagement days later, which must mean that Regina has dropped the charges. They’ve begun filming for the new season after what Cora has been calling a _hiccup_ between the actors and now that Henry’s birth mother is finally out of the picture for the time being.

 

Henry’s on set now, actually, Regina reluctant to part from him and plenty of roles available for Lost Boys in Neverland. He runs free with Jamaal, the two of them with their heads together more often than not as they torment everyone on set. Henry is a terrible influence on Jamaal and Jamaal is breathless and seems to be enjoying every moment of it. 

 

It’s Jamaal’s time to shine, and bickering coworkers and scheduling issues aside, it’s going well. Bickering coworkers aside. Mary Margaret corners Emma on set one day to demand tearfully, “You’re on her side, aren’t you? It was an innocent mistake! I never meant for it to go this far!” 

 

“I’m really happy for you on your engagement,” Emma says mechanically. “I know you and David are great together.” 

 

“She’s been tormenting me for weeks,” Mary Margaret says. “She’s been _using_ you to get at me.” Her fists are clenched and she glares once across the stage to where Regina is shoving aside a fake plant irritably. “I know she likes to paint herself as the victim of every story, but no one with that much power is ever going to be the victim.” She’s angry and desperate and Emma shrugs helplessly. Protecting Henry she can do. Taking sides in some decade-long feud? Way out of her league. 

 

And Regina isn’t blameless, Emma knows that. The NDA she’d put on Henry had been a weak one by the nature of it, and she’d known from the start that she wouldn’t win any lawsuits over it. She’d just wanted to punish Mary Margaret and make her hurt like Regina had. 

 

It’s a fucking mess. Emma wants to hide from it all. 

 

She makes an excuse and hides from them all, crouching in fake leaves and scrolling through her Twitter feed. Surprisingly, there are quite a few Victory Rose names in her mentions, and she blinks and reads through their caustic comments.

 

_When are you going to step up, @EmmaSwan14? regina can’t pick up your slack forever._ Attached is a screencap of a news article, and Emma feels her heart sink as she skims it.

 

_When it comes to Victory Rose, Regina has plenty to say. “It’s this really wonderful dynamic,” she says with a laugh. “You never know if they’re friends or enemies, but there’s an underlying care and understanding that carries them through the search for Jamie.”_

 

_UNDERLYING CARE AND UNDERSTANDING FUCK YOUR KINDRED SPIRITS @EMMASWAN14_ is the tweet beneath it, and the other tweets in her mentions seem to be other Victory Rosers trying desperately to hide their enraged co-shippers with positivity. But they can’t hide them all, not the angry tweets and the mocking commentary and the hostility that’s laced through them all. 

 

And it’s not _fair_ , not when Regina can speak so freely about Victory Rose while Emma has no choice but to ignore. Not when Regina is adored and celebrated by the ship Emma had fallen in love with and Emma is trapped on all sides, forced to be aloof and someone else entirely. She can’t help the resentment that bubbles up now, selfish and lost and angry.

 

“Emma?” It’s Regina’s voice, pitched higher than usual with concern as she maneuvers through the trees. “Emma, where did you go?” 

 

“I’m here,” she says, pushing aside a fake fern. “Nice interview.” 

 

“Emma,” Regina says again, reaching for her hand. “You know I have to–“ 

 

Emma pulls away from her. “Yeah, I know. Don’t we have a scene to run through?” 

 

There’s a flash of hurt on Regina’s face that smoothes over a moment later into indifference. “I suppose we do,” she says, and they run lines together like professionals. There’s a distance between them now, and Emma knows it’s her fault but can’t seem to stop it. It’s jealousy and it’s resentment and it’s that she’s in her third year of doing this show where Regina and Killian are beloved and she’s feeling edged out of her own family again. 

 

Regina doesn’t need any more drama, and certainly not a jealous costar. They do a Hollywood premiere party in the same place they’d reserved for the pilot pickup party, and Emma avoids Regina and Mary Margaret and arrives separately, posing for media and sticking close to Jamaal and Marian. Mary Margaret is with David, beaming and showing off her ring, and Henry clings to Regina’s hand and brightens only when he sees Jamaal. 

 

There’s a cry of, “Regina! Regina, tell us about your son’s birth mother! Is it true you took him without her consent?” 

 

Regina looks irritated at the question. “No, that isn’t–“ 

 

“How long do you plan on keeping her locked up? Does Henry have any rights here?” 

 

They’re merciless, charging forward with question after question until Regina is spitting mad and snarling out responses. “That’s enough!” she says sharply when one reporter sticks a microphone in Henry’s face, and Henry ducks under her arm as Regina strides inside.

 

And it’s going to get worse, of course, because Regina doesn’t hurt without striking back. Emma sees the moment that she pulls David aside, linking her arm in his and speaking in a low, hushed tone, and she cringes. “This is going to be a shitstorm,” she mutters to Marian.

 

“Going to be?” But Marian is watching Mary Margaret watching Regina, and Regina smirks as David pulls away from her and makes a beeline for Mary Margaret. They fight, low and furious, and David is storming out after just minutes, his eyes dark as Mary Margaret gapes after him.

 

And Mary Margaret scans the room for allies and her eyes land on Emma. 

 

Emma flinches away as Marian says, “Jamaal, let’s go find Henry and the hors d’oeuvres, okay?” and vanishes, leaving Emma alone. 

 

Mary Margaret stalks to Emma, the sweet actress gone and replaced by a hard-eyed woman. “Come,” she says. “Isn’t it time we stopped letting Regina take advantage of us?” 

 

Emma doesn’t agree, doesn’t explain the yearning beneath her skin for _RoseVictoriaRegina_ that has her itching with bitterness and affection intermingled. Emma also doesn’t pull away, standing silent and awkward behind Mary Margaret as she goes in on Regina. 

 

“You’re a bully,” Mary Margaret says furiously, and Emma toys with the strap of her bag and watches them both. “You have had _everything in your life_ handed to you on a silver platter and you can’t stand the fact that anyone else might possibly be happy. You had to make me miserable first, right? You’ve been making Emma miserable for _weeks_ with your pandering to those lesbians and you just–“ 

 

She gulps in a breath, near tears, and Emma doesn’t reach out to her. Emma doesn’t reach out to either of them, trapped in her own insecurities and resentments and the part of her that needs and fears Regina in equal measure. She stands still, frozen with indecision as Mary Margaret sobs out, “You don’t give a damn, do you? I used to love you before I found out that you were– you were a manipulative– you’re _cruel_ ,” she says, righteous anger at a peak. “You destroy happiness wherever you go. No wonder Henry’s been so miserable.” 

 

And it’s odd, really, Emma notes as though from afar. Regina is so self-assured, so confident and sarcastic and in control, and Emma’s never seen her like this. She stands with lips parted, eyes narrowed and wet, fists clenched, and she stares at Emma’s downcast face when Mary Margaret runs out of steam and says, “If you two don’t have anything more to add…?” 

 

It’s haughty even on the precipice of tears, but the effect is ruined when she wheels around and makes a mad dash for the restrooms. Her voice had been small and prickly, like a tiny creature cornered, and there had been that same moisture in it. And Emma had stood silently and waited for a fight that had been horrifically one-sided. Mary Margaret says, “Good,” but she’s also crying, helpless and angry and lost, and Emma runs instinctively after Regina.

 

Regina is sitting on the same couch they’d sat on after the pilot party, two years ago, back when everything had been simpler and more complicated at the same time. She’s staring straight ahead, eyes still watery but no tears escaping them anymore, and she looks as strong as a brittle glass about to shatter. “What now, Miss Swan?” she says when Emma sits next to her, and she sounds worn to nothingness.

 

Emma kisses her.

 

For one heart-stopping moment, Regina does nothing and Emma’s misjudged the situation, let a crush run away with her and read too deeply into casual flirtations. And then there are fingers around the lapels of Emma’s suit, tugging her closer, Regina’s lips crushed to hers like it’s the first time she’s breathed in days. 

 

Emma shifts closer, fingers tracing lines up and down Regina’s back. Regina melts into her some more and she’s clutching so hard, like a surge of compressed energy, tight and close and _everything_. They’re gasping into each other’s mouths, Emma’s nails digging into the bare skin of Regina’s back and Regina’s hands fisting into Emma’s suit and Regina is somehow astride Emma’s lap, lips and teeth pulling at Emma’s fiercely.

 

She isn’t crying anymore but she’s whimpering, little needy breaths that have Emma seeking out every bare inch of skin she can find, touching her shoulder blades and the curve of her neckline to the swell of her breasts and her neck and the expanse of leg beneath the slit of Regina’s dress. She’s an addict in an instant, each touch more precious than the last, and Regina is still holding onto her suit and nothing more, pulling at Emma’s lower lip with her teeth and nuzzling her nose to Emma’s cheek.

 

“Regina,” Emma whispers, and at least it’s the least embarrassing thing that might’ve come from her mouth right then. At least she hadn’t said some of the other, more dangerous admissions that had nearly emerged. 

 

An instant later, Regina is pulling away from Emma, eyes dilated and wild and horrified. “Regina,” Emma says again, this time less confident. Regina looks away, stumbling off Emma’s lap and onto the seat beside her. Emma reaches for her but she stands up, checking her makeup in the mirror and fixing smudged eyes with a businesslike precision. 

 

And Emma is still on the couch, gaping at Regina as the other woman combs through her hair and adjusts her dress, eyes focused on her reflection in the mirror and not on the reflection of the woman sitting behind her. “Regina?” she repeats timidly, and Regina walks out of the bathroom without looking at her once.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**in which we take a moment after the first kiss.**

 

By the time Emma emerges from the bathroom, Regina has vanished with Henry for the night and Marian is huddled in a corner with Mary Margaret, her eyes flashing as Mary Margaret still sobs. The party has taken a definite hit, lost enough of the main cast that people are whispering, and Emma puts on a fake smile and sits at a table, a bit shellshocked. 

 

She nearly texts Regina. Shoves her phone in her pocket instead. Smiles again at Cora as the other woman makes her way over to her. “Quite the night, hasn't it been?” Cora says dryly.

 

“It’s been…something,” Emma manages, licking her lips and hoping to hell that she’d gotten all of Regina’s lipstick off of them. 

 

“Yes, well.” Cora sighs. “The girls have always been rather dramatic. They’ll get it out of their systems and move on, as they always do.” 

 

It’s so dismissive, so utterly patronizing from someone who’d started this mess thirteen years ago. Emma’s spent too much time tonight being quiet to stop the outrage that bubbles up in response. “Didn’t you start all of this?” she points out. “Regina told us about the accident–“ 

 

Cora rolls her eyes. “Oh, yes, Regina’s _theory_.” She tosses out the word with disdain. “The accident was regrettable, but it was a simple hit-and-run. They had no evidence that Henry’s birth mother was involved beyond a traumatized girl’s testimony. I did make sure that she stayed far away from my daughter from then on, but that was for Regina’s mental health, of course. I take care of my family.” 

 

Emma takes it with a grain of salt, as she always does with Cora. “And what about now?”  

 

“Now she’s committed a crime. She’s been taken care of,” Cora says dismissively. She purses her lips into a humorless smile. “It’s almost as though you don’t believe I’m on your side anymore, Emma.”

 

There’s a threat in those words, a promise of what it might mean to be positioned opposite Cora, and Emma shakes her head very slowly. “Of course not,” she says.

 

Cora cocks her head, her expression knowing. “Always a delight chatting with you, dear.” She leans forward, snatching a napkin off the table. “Ah, and… You’ve got a little something–“ She dabs at a spot just below Emma’s chin. The napkin comes back dark pink, the color of Regina’s lipstick. 

 

Emma freezes, staring up at Cora. Cora meets her gaze with opaque eyes.

 

But there’s no consequence from Cora, nothing that could be an accusation or a punishment. Emma doesn’t know if Cora hadn’t noticed at all or if she’s saving the information for a later date, holding onto it like a weapon, and she’s on edge during filming for the next episode.

 

And, of course, with perfect timing, the episode they’re filming– _Good Form_ , which is also supposed to feature Rose and Hook’s first kiss– has multiple scenes between Victoria, Rose, and Snow.

 

“Regina,” she says, catching up to her on their first day back. Regina is chatting with Mary Margaret– handily insulting her, actually, but Mary Margaret is back to accepting the insults with an exasperated admiration. The tension between them is barely more visible than usual. Emma doesn’t know if Mary Margaret had apologized or if this is just how they adapt to constant conflict, but it strikes her as unfair.

 

Because she’d been Regina’s _friend_. They’d been getting closer and now Regina eyes her with a false smile as condescending as her mother’s and says, “I’m not running lines with you, Miss Swan.”

 

“Oh, so we’re doing this now, are we?” Emma says, frustrated. Not that she hadn’t figured it out from the absolute radio silence after the party. Not that she’d dared trying to call Regina, either.

 

But Regina gives her a cool look and eyes her like she’s an irritating housefly, their relationship set back to pilot-era hostility. And Emma can’t help but lash back out, as obnoxious and angry as she can manage. She’d thought…maybe they could _pretend_ , at least. If it isn’t something that Regina wants, they could have ignored the kiss and been friends again, maybe. 

 

Onscreen, Regina looks at her with muted pain, with longing, with affection. It’s Victoria and it’s Regina and Emma doesn’t know which she’s looking at sometimes, if she’s projecting Victoria’s affection onto Regina–

 

–And _fuck_ , she really just wants to kiss Regina again.

 

It had been a stupid idea in the first place, a desperate desire to comfort Regina that had only sabotaged them instead. She’d made Regina uncomfortable, brought up something Regina had never wanted to act on. It’s all Emma can think about now, all she craves, and she knows it’ll never happen again. 

 

Sometimes Regina holds that tentative love in her eyes for a moment too long after the shout of “Cut!” and Emma stares back blankly and fights to remember that it isn’t real.

 

She scrolls through her Twitter mentions while she’s getting her hair fixed and sees that there’s a poll going on, some kind of massive  _Top TV Chemistry_ battle that Rose Captain, Victory Rose, and RoseFire shippers are all scrambling for.

 

_At least Killian and Emma would do the winner’s interview,_ comes a snide tweet. _Vote for the only ship that the actors actually support._ The tweeter has a Victory Rose icon, Rose and Victoria standing close enough to kiss in Season One, and Emma stares at the link for a long moment and then exits the page.

 

* * *

 

**in which we take a moment before the next kiss.**

 

The next kiss, in this case, is a far less anticipated event for Emma.

 

“We should master our craft, Swan.” Killian is leaning against a makeshift wall, leering at her as though he’d made it happen. They’re on the sound stage where they’re due to film, Regina on the opposite end of the room giving the director a hard time, and Emma barely hears Killian’s comment in her Regina-induced haze. 

 

Regina shifts in place, contemptuous sneer on her face as she watches them. She’d mocked the script the moment she’d seen it. They’ve been getting the scripts on set lately, hurriedly passed out as the crew makes up for lost time, and they’d gotten this one days before the premiere. Regina had scoffed and nudged Emma with a little more force than necessary, and Emma had flipped to the end and found the kiss.

 

_I’d rather kiss you_ , she’d thought then, and Regina couldn’t have known but it still burns now.

 

Now, Regina isn’t giving Emma the time of day to tease her over the kiss. Regina is watching from the other end of the room, haughty and unimpressed with both of them, and Emma scowls under her burning gaze. A flicker of what might have been penitence passes across Regina’s face and is quickly concealed. 

 

There’s still something there. Regret, at least. Emma _knows_ Regina, knows that she can’t be enjoying this much time with the group that she calls _idiots_ on a good day, but now there’s a quickly widening gulf between them that doesn’t seem like it can be mended.

 

Regina eyes her like she’s no one at all and Killian smirks like she wants this and Emma seizes him by the collar, yanks him toward her like Rose Turner would and–

 

–And somehow, she wants desperately to recapture what it had been on that couch in the bathroom at the premiere that had broken her. She isn’t going to find it with Rose and Hook, she knows instinctively. But she nearly tries it anyway before she drops Killian's collar and shoves him away, dissatisfied and feeling oddly like she wants to cry.

 

“Swan!” Killian protests, his lips still half-puckered for a kiss he isn’t going to get. The director is laughing and Regina is staring at them, expressionless. 

 

And because Emma’s still a sad idiot overwhelmed with feelings she doesn’t dare parse, she takes a step forward. “Regina, I–“ 

 

Regina spins around and stalks out of the room. “Lover’s quarrel?” Killian asks, his disappointment gone as he smirks madly. The director laughs again. Emma runs after Regina.

 

Regina’s already gone. She doesn’t return until it’s time to film, and she won’t meet Emma’s eyes once during said filming. She still manages it skillfully, focusing on Mary Margaret and with much eye rolling. She’s a professional. 

 

Emma, a little less professional, can’t tear her eyes off of Regina most of the time. They stand awkwardly at either end of the set while Snow and Charming have a passionate reunion kiss and Regina is out the door again the moment the scene is done.

 

This time, though, Emma stops at her trailer on her way back and pokes her head in the door, irritated but still guilty for some indescribable reason. “You know it’s my job, right?” 

 

Regina wheels around, looking alarmed as she slams her laptop shut, and Emma’s eyebrows rise as she catches the screen. “Were you just…voting in that poll thing?” 

 

For a moment, Regina looks like she might deny it, and then she straightens in her seat again and says irritably, “Well, I’m not going to let you and your little toadie take this when I’m in the race.” 

 

“Fine.” Emma stalks across the trailer, sits down on the couch next to Regina’s table, and clicks on the link on Twitter this time. She stabs the circle for Victory Rose and votes, and then does it again. 

 

Regina looks over her shoulder and she punches in a vote for Rose Captain out of spite, finger hovering over the _VOTE_ button. “I know you’re voting for Victory Rose,” Regina says, her voice tinged with mocking... _something_. Emma can’t figure out if it’s hostile or affectionate. She settles on hostile.

 

“Fuck off,” Emma says, and leans back against the couch and votes until the tension in the room is too much for her to handle. 

 

* * *

 

**in which there is a three-way shipping frenzy.**

 

“So how have things been?” Emma prompts Henry. For all her fears about this tension between her and Regina, she’d been terrified most of all of being cut off from Henry. Regina is nothing less than vindictive when she’s angry, and Emma can’t figure what it is that drives her now– fury or embarrassment or something else. But Henry’s always been difficult to control, and now that he’s on set with the Lost Boys, it’s nearly impossible for Regina to keep him from Emma.

 

If she’s been trying, anyway. Today she’d approved their lunch plans and they’re snagging the meal out of studio together while Regina films. “With your birth mother?” Emma clarifies.

 

“She negotiated some deal so she didn’t go to jail but now she has a restraining order,” Henry says, biting into his burger. “Mom says that she won’t keep me from meeting her if I want to, but…” He swallows, screwing up his nose. “I don’t know if I want to.” 

 

He doesn’t look wistful, only thoughtful, and Emma ventures, “Because of your dad?”

 

Henry shrugs that off. “She hurts my mom a lot. Maybe I’ll want to meet her someday, but not right now.” 

 

Emma’s quietly relieved on Regina’s behalf. “And…about your mom,” Emma tacks on as casually as she can manage. “How’s she dealing with all this?” 

 

Henry looks at her knowingly, more than a hint of frustration on his face. “Ask her yourself,” he mutters. 

 

So Henry knows. Everyone must know by now by that there’s been tension between them because the rumors are flying off-set, renewed snarky tweets and set reports from fans insisting that they won’t even go to sign autographs at the same times. Emma slouches and ignores it until they’re already up to filming _Save Jamie_ and two things happen:

 

First, the _Top TV Chemistry_ battle hits its conclusion, Victory Rose stunning with a victory over that CW show with the brothers. Emma has an early morning the day after voting closes and grins, tightlipped and hard, when she sees the tweets pouring in from the fandom.

 

And then, later that same day, the sneak peek featuring Rose and Hook in a liplock is released to the world. 

 

It’s enough to give Emma whiplash. One moment, there’s nothing but enthusiasm in her notifications. The next, it’s this mingled combination of absolute glee and absolute fury at once. A couple hundred Rose Captain shippers change their icons to the same scene. Victory Rose shippers mock and snarl, and Rose Captain shippers smugly snarl back. 

 

Marian texts her– _the site hosting that poll is soliciting a dual interview_ – and Emma tracks Gold down outside craft services. “No!” he says incredulously. “I told Regina already, absolutely not. No interview, no tweets, no acknowledgement. You think we’d promote Victory Rose winning a competition against Rose Captain when we’re just beginning to launch that relationship?” 

 

“It’s publicity,” Emma protests. 

 

“It’s mainstreaming Victory Rose. Get out of here. Go retweet that sneak peek,” Gold orders, and Emma contemplates punching him in the face for a moment before he turns away and limps off with his lunch.

 

The chatter in her notifications has risen to a dull roar, everyone in them demanding something from her. 

 

_What’s it like kissing Killian?_

 

_I heard they kissed for so long that they missed the call to cut!_ Emma winces.

 

_Don’t tell me Rose Turner would ever kiss that sleazeball if she knew Baelfire was alive._

 

_YOU KISSED!!! ROSE CAPTAIN IS ENDGAME!!!_

 

_Kisses do not a poll-winning popular ship make~_ There’s an emoji of a frog and one of…a coffee mug?…beside it. Emma squints at it.

 

_Haha fuck Baelfire and Regina’s abusive asses #RoseCaptain_

 

_Aren’t you going to say anything about the #VictoryRose poll?_ Emma winces again.

 

She retweets the sneak peek without commentary. The first reply to it accuses her of being a homophobe and she laughs and laughs and laughs until there are tears leaking from her eyes and she’s curled up on the couch in her trailer, crying silent tears into its arm and missing Regina with hopeless, aching defeat.

 

* * *

 

**in which there is the hug that was.**

 

_Save Jamie_ is a special brand of torture. The episode is meant to be emotional, to be about Jamie thrumming in Rose and Victoria’s veins and nothing else mattering but their makeshift family. Emma films every scene with Regina, so focused on her that even mutual snideness can’t keep Rose’s intensity and newfound faith in Victoria from blossoming.

 

Jamaal has shone all season and now they’re finally reunited for filming, and there’s a group hug at the end of the episode when Jamie has finally been saved. Emma fouls it up a dozen times, too quick or too long or–

 

“Look at the kid, not his mom,” the director says irritably, and Emma _tries_ but Rose and Emma both are drawn to the relief in Victoria-Regina’s eyes, the softness as she presses her forehead to Jamaal’s temple and seems to breathe for the first time in weeks. 

 

At the end of their first successful take, Regina raises her eyes and catches Emma’s, and they stare at each other for too long after the director’s “Cut!”, arms still around Jamaal and gazes locked.

 

Regina breaks away first, schooling her features into something cooler and impersonal, and Emma can’t take it anymore. She bolts after Regina and sticks her foot in the trailer door before Regina can slam it. “Please, Regina,” she begs, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable on Regina’s face as she steps back reluctantly.

 

Emma fiddles with her jeans a little and Regina barks, “Just spit it out,” and immediately looks ashamed. There’s caution when she talks to Emma now, resentment and chagrin at her own resentment, and it’s so…unnatural…to see Regina hold back so much anger at her. Regina’s never hesitated before.

 

“I’m not going to try to kiss you again,” Emma promises hastily. Regina’s eyebrow arches. “That was a mistake.” Regina’s brow knits and Emma dares to ask, tentative, “Right?” 

 

Regina’s fingers are clenching and unclenching and she looks like she’s angry or frustrated or–

 

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Emma amends, because all it seems to do is drive them further apart. “I just…I wanted us to be friends again.” 

 

“You thought we were friends?” Oh, god, Regina looks genuinely taken aback, eyes rounded and almost fearful. For all her denials last year and insistences that they’d only been colleagues, Emma had thought that she’d been joking. Emma hasn't had friends before this job and she’d botched up one that matters by reading their interactions all wrong.

 

Well, that and the surprise kiss she’d broached.

 

She swallows another bitter dose of insecurity and says, “I’m…Henry’s friend?”

 

This isn’t a battle she can win, not when they’re still so distant and they aren’t even communicating on the same levels. Emma wants everything to do with Regina and Regina’s barely accepted that they’re _anyone_ to each other. Regina doesn’t want her in any capacity.

 

She turns to go, shoulders slumping, and Regina seizes her hand and tugs her back. “Wait!” 

 

Emma whirls around with their hands still joined and Regina is right there in front of her, their faces millimeters apart. She looks stricken, vulnerable, eyes flickering down to Emma’s lips. “I didn’t mean…” she whispers, her voice trailing off. It’s a Regina Emma’s never seen before, not around anyone but her son. It’s Regina who might have leaned in and kissed her back in the bathroom, after all, and Emma hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. 

 

And she still can’t figure out how to keep her mouth shut around Regina and blurts out, “Was it a mistake?” 

 

Regina’s eyes close off in an instant, so swift that Emma might have blinked and missed the moment where she’d been something _more_. “Of course it was,” she snaps, jerking away from Emma. “You’ve gotten yourself all mixed up in Victoria and Rose and Victory Rose and…and this is your first real acting job,” she says, her shoulders dropping.

 

“That isn’t what’s happening here,” Emma croaks out.

 

And there’s something very sincere and lost about the way that Regina continues. Deflection or not, Regina believes this, and Emma cringes. “You can’t let the script dictate your feelings. You can’t just…read a Swan Queen fic and let the fans tell you how you feel.” 

 

Regina is backing further and further away from her, like she’s afraid she might grab Emma’s arm again; and Emma says blankly, “What the hell is Swan Queen?” 

 

Regina’s cheeks darken and she turns around, seizing her cell phone off the table and pressing it to her ear. “Get out,” she orders, her back to Emma, and Emma escapes the trailer in a rush of confusion, defeat, and determination.

 

* * *

 

**in which swan queen is embarrassingly canon.**

 

She waits until she’s home to open her laptop and head to Tumblr. _Swan Queen_. Isn’t that that Natalie Portman movie? She’d been teased by a particularly obnoxious boss for weeks after that had come out, _I'm the swan queen! I'm the swan queen!_ and it still makes her head ache now.

 

The Swan Queen tag, however, has very few ballet posts and many more posts about Emma and Regina. _Huh_. She finds an old tweet screencapped on one set of photos, the one where she’d called Regina the _Evil Queen! :)_ back in Season One _. Swan + Queen = Swan Queen,_ the caption helpfully explains.

 

This fandom has names for everything, including actor relationships, apparently. Emma rolls her eyes and then freezes as she catches a tag below the post. 

 

And then another. 

 

And then another. 

 

It’s all innocent photos and videos of them at SDCC and a few Photoshopped photos splicing together photoshoots (and _okay_ , she’s barely ever done any that Cora hadn’t sent her to and she’s definitely never done one in the nude, so that photo of her curled around Victoria on the mayor’s desk is clearly fake and there’s no need to flush over it). And maybe she’d have thought it was all innocent celebration of them and Victory Rose if not for the tags.

 

_#Emma’s so in love I stg_

 

_#Regina looks at Emma like she’s her everything_

 

_#JUST BANG ALREADY YOUR CHARACTERS CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE SEXUAL TENSION_

 

Emma gapes at the screen, horrified, and then promptly examines the photos to see if Regina really does looks at her _like she’s her everything_. “For fuck’s sake,” she moans, banging her head against her desk. This is absurd. This is one step beyond Victory Rose and absolutely horrifying.

 

And then there are the conspiracy theories. How they’ve been hooking up for years, how they really do hate each other, how Emma’s in love with Regina and Regina had rejected–

 

_Well._ She doesn’t need to read that. This is all false speculation, anyway. Regina’s right– this is the kind of stuff that makes reality and fiction all unraveled together. Regina has–

 

_Oh, god._

 

Regina has _seen_ this. Regina _knows_ about this. Regina has done her research and even more in depth than Emma. Emma gapes at the screen, refuses to look at what claims to be a fanfiction about Emma… _smearing frosting all over Regina_? She gets the occasional insinuation about her and Killian, but she also spends most interviews with him flirting for the cameras and it’s easy to dismiss. _How would the fans possibly know–_

 

It’s a Victory Rose thing. It must just be…wishful thinking, that’s all. There are nearly as many photos of Natalie Portman in the tag as there are posts about Emma and Regina, and it only takes a few minutes of scrolling before she’s a full season back. They don’t even take photos together. Of course the fans are suspicious.

 

She scrolls through the most recent posts from SDCC and finds a photo where they’re looking at each other and smiling past David’s and Mary Margaret’s heads. It’s been lightened and colored and there’s an artist’s signature in the corner of it, but it’s been tagged with Swan Queen and nothing else.

 

She saves it to her laptop and then opens Twitter. _Remember this @ReginaMills? good times at #sdcc!_ “Your move, Regina,” she says aloud, watching the disbelieving replies roll out. She can imagine the Victory Rose shippers holding their breaths, can see legions of them tagging Regina again and again in search of a response. 

 

Regina doesn’t meet Emma’s eyes for a week after that.

 

* * *

 

**in which there is the hug that wasn’t.**

 

The final scenes of the first half of the season are heart-wrenching. There’s a new curse and only Jamie and Rose will escape it, leaving the town ostensibly forever. Rose has spent so long finding her family that losing them now is enough to have Emma crying even when she just reads the script, sobbing over Snow and Charming and Victoria’s final gift to Rose. 

 

_Victoria_. When they’re filming, Victoria holds onto Rose’s hand and tells her, “ _My gift to you is good memories, a good life for you and Jamie. You’ll have never given him up,_ ” she says, and Emma dissolves into tears and doesn’t know if they’re hers or Rose’s anymore. “ _You’ll have always been together_.” 

 

“ _You would do that?_ ” Rose asks, wide-eyed. It’s their final take. Emma is deep in character and there’s still a piece of her that yearns for Regina’s tearful smile, so different and so similar to Victoria’s. 

 

They run through the rest of their lines together, Victoria urging Rose to go, and then–

 

Later, Regina will insist that it had felt right, when Emma had been vulnerable and afraid and staring up at Regina with Rose’s trusting eyes– and Victoria sweeps her into a hug that lasts too long, Rose's face buried in Victoria’s neck and Victoria's cheek pressed to Rose's hair. And Emma and Rose are both wrapped up in Regina and Victoria, their eyes closed as they sway in their embrace.

 

They do the rest of their lines with an odd kind of peace in them and between them. Victoria has comforted Rose. And Emma and Regina end the scene and maybe…tentatively…Emma’s beginning to feel like they might survive this bump in the road.

 

Regina ventures, “Drinks?” when the cameras stop rolling.

 

“Please,” Emma breathes, feeling Regina’s hand light on her elbow, and they depart from the set together.

 

They head over to one of the nearby bars, an upscale one without much noise or distraction. “It’s been a long half-season, huh?” Emma says, clinking a shot glass against Regina’s. They’ll have to shoot a couple more episodes before hiatus, but they get a few days off after that harrowing final episode of the half-season.

 

Regina has an elbow on the bar, her head leaning against one propped-up arm. “It really has,” she says. Their eyes are on each other and they’ve barely broken that gaze all night, warm and peaceful like they haven’t been in months. “I wanted to… I want to apologize.” 

 

Emma shakes her head, immediately regretful. “Regina, no.” For all Regina’s distance lately, it had been Emma who’d initiated the kiss and broken this for them both. “You didn’t–“ 

 

“After I lost Daniel…” Regina ducks her head, staring into her drink. “I think seeing Henry’s birth mother again brought it all back a bit more. But since then... I’ve never been very good at letting people into my life.” She looks up, her eyes bright. “And you wormed your way in anyway, didn’t you?”

 

Emma winces. “Flattering.”

 

“Well.” Regina sniffs with mock arrogance. “Between you and Henry, it’s not like I had any choice in the matter.” She laughs at herself but her eyes are solemn. Emma puts a hand on Regina’s and Regina wraps it in her own. “I don’t know how to do friendship,” she admits. “And anything else you might want from me is…” 

 

She looks so miserable and tense and pulling back into herself again, and Emma tries to smile soothingly. “Friendship,” she says, a lump in her throat. “That’s– that’s all I want from you.” It’s a lie, but a necessary one, and her heart is tight and hopeful and devastated. 

 

“I don’t know how,” Regina says again, but then she squeezes her eyes shut and admits, “But I don’t remember how any of this was before you…” She swallows a shot and retracts her hand from Emma’s gently. “I’ve missed you,” she murmurs, staring at the table as though she’s afraid to reveal any more of herself, and Emma is at a loss for words.

 

(The version of _Going Home_ that airs is absent the Victory Rose hug, and Emma snarls curses at the screen in her apartment until her phone buzzes on her lap.

 

It’s a tweet. _@ReginaMills: loved shooting this scene! so emotional with @JamaalLee @EmmaSwan14 hugs to all ❤︎_

 

Emma retweets it.)

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for one of our ladies kissing a dude in very non-graphic ways.
> 
> Some notes about New Guy: Even though I officially tagged him as Robin at the start of this fic, he’s basically an original character I’ve taken some inspiration for elsewhere. I tried writing this with Robin Hood but with all due respect, he’s hella boring and not the kind of character I particularly wanted for this story, so he will remain Robin Hood on Happily Ever After and New Guy in Emma’s pov in this story.

**in which new guy enters the scene.**

 

Their first episode of the second half of the season is filmed shortly after, and Emma’s mildly disappointed for the first time in weeks that she doesn’t have any scenes with Regina. Still, though, it’s Jamaal and Emma and some Killian and feels like a strong character piece, and she’s surprised at how excited she is to get back to it.

 

Neverland filming had been tense at best and hellish at its worst, and the familiarity of sitting on a set and hanging out with Jamaal is a relief. They’re wrapping early for the day, most of the crew filming on location with the rest of the cast, and Emma grabs the new script and heads out to say hi on her way home.

 

She sees Mary Margaret sitting alone at one end of the clearing where they’re filming and frowns, her eyes flickering back around the area for any other familiar faces. She nods to a few vague acquaintances from the crew and zeroes in a man who looks familiar, though she can’t place him. He’s dressed in costume; maybe he’d been one of their regular extras last season?

 

“Emma Swan!” he says, striding over to her, and she blinks at him again. “You’re even lovelier in person.” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, a script in his hand, and she finally realizes why she’s here.

 

“Thank you,” she says, digging automatically for a pen and autographing it for him. “Did you want a picture, too?” 

 

Now he’s looking offended, and she’s frustrated and puzzled and still looking for someone who’s supposed to be here and isn't. “I don’t have much time,” she says, glancing around. “I’m just here to visit, so if you don’t mind getting your camera out–” 

 

“I’m playing Robin Hood!” he explodes, and _oh. Fuck._ “I’m your newest costar. Well, Regina Mills’s newest costar,” he says, and there’s an almost lecherous smirk curling onto his face that Emma hates immediately.

 

“You’re the love interest,” she says, her voice even. She’d known that the show had planned to introduce one this season– they all had known– but it’s only beginning to register now. 

 

“Hardly just a love interest,” New Guy says, back to a genial smile. “I plan to be the most indispensable Robin Hood any show has ever had. A breakout star to rival my new onscreen lover!” He raises an eyebrow. “Might put you out of a job,” he says, and then breaks into raucous laughter at Emma’s frozen smile. “Our British humor is always a tad too high-brow for Americans.” He rubs her shoulder in what he must think is a friendly greeting and swaggers off. 

 

Emma stares after him, her skin crawling where he’d touched it. Mary Margaret says, not looking up, “Yes, it’s his _humor_ that’s intolerable.” 

 

It’s so sarcastic from someone so often mild-mannered that Emma does finally laugh, sidling back over to her. “You’ve been filming with him all day?” 

 

Mary Margaret finally raises her face to give Emma a knowing look. “She’s still here. She vanished when we got the scripts. You know how she gets.” There’s only the usual resentment in her voice now, the feud dissipating for now to be picked up later. Mary Margaret and Regina will probably never be friends, but they seem like sisters sometimes, cutting deep and in all the right ways but still accustomed to each other at the end of the day.

 

Emma determinedly does not flush. “I came to say hi to everyone,” she says. 

 

“Hi,” Mary Margaret says, rolling her eyes with affection. “I think she might’ve gone into one of the vans.” 

 

“Then I’ll say hi to her, too,” Emma shoots back, mock-innocent, and slows her gait as she heads to the vans. Regina does like to hide away with the scripts when she first gets them, but she’s also very private about it. Emma can’t imagine that she’d have let her focus slip so deeply from the scene at hand unless there’s something alarming in the script. 

 

She ducks into one of the vans and sees Regina in the back. She’s wearing an Evil Queen dress but she’s let her hair down to settle on the shoulders of it and give her an oddly fragile effect. Or maybe that’s just the way she's staring at a page of the script like it isn’t there.

 

“What’s up?” Emma says, and she’s trying to be cheerful but it falters at Regina’s colorless face.

 

Regina looks up, anguish in her eyes. “Have…have you read the episode?” 

 

And _oh god_ , for a moment, Emma expects the worst. Jamaal being written off or some kind of really questionable backslide for Victoria or–

 

She crouches down and settles into the seat beside Regina, digging out her script from her bag.

 

And it’s…it’s _good_ , really. It has a lot of Victoria and Rose working together and there are some moments that she knows the Victory Rose shippers will be ecstatic about– borderline _romant–_ ( _No,_ she warns herself.)

 

But it’s the other plot line that Regina has her script opened to, and Emma goes back to look at that. It’s New Guy’s bit. Robin Hood. The soulmate. The flashbacks of the episode are all Victoria and Robin Hood, on a mission together and baring their souls to each other and the stirrings of a _connection_. 

 

Emma makes a face on behalf of her fans before she shifts to comfort mode. “He seems nice enough?” she lies, nudging Regina’s side. “And we know the audience will love everything you do–“ (She isn’t bitter about that anymore. Not too much.)

 

But Regina still looks devastated, and Emma’s at a loss as to why until she hears Regina murmur, barely audible, “This is going to break their hearts.”

 

_Break their hearts_. There’s only one _their_ Regina can possibly be referring to, and Emma takes in a sharp, baffled breath. “I didn’t…I didn’t realize you cared–“ 

 

“Of course I care!” Regina snarls, red-eyed and wild. “They’re my…I didn’t want this for them,” she whispers.

 

Emma is…Emma is blown away, a little bit. “I know,” Emma says, except she _hadn’t_. Regina has only shown any affection for Victory Rose in rare moments, had seemed to be voting for them in a fit of pique and had never seemed to _care_ all that much. Regina loves her fans and Emma’s never doubted that, but she’d never thought that she’d been this connected to Victory Rose until now.

 

But the look on her face right now isn’t dissimilar to the one she’d had when Henry used to reject her, longing and regretful and so, so hurt on his behalf. On _their_ behalf. And Emma had spent so long being forcibly separated from Victory Rose that she thinks she should be smug here at Regina getting the same treatment, and yet…

 

And yet. “As a…” she starts carefully, and Regina looks up like she’s heard the trembling in Emma’s voice. “I think teenaged lesbian me would have wanted to believe that you were on our side, even if you couldn’t be.” She presses her lips together again and waits, shivering in the early winter chill. 

 

Regina’s eyes widen and then turn wet and shiny and soft, and she reaches out and presses a hand to Emma’s cheek, stroking her skin with her thumb. “Emma,” she murmurs, and Emma can’t read her right now. Emma doesn’t know what this Victoria-caliber glow is in Regina’s eyes when she looks at Emma, but she leans into Regina's palm and watches her smile tremulously.

 

“I can do that,” Regina says.

 

They can’t take a selfie or say anything too controversial, not with Gold breathing down their necks, but it’s the tiny rebellions that matter, right? And they’re actors and they can do whatever the fuck they want within the confines of that acting.

 

They don’t talk about it before again, and they don’t talk about it after. Not the long gazes and the way that they deliver their lines with added weight. Not when the way that Victoria looks at Rose in the Bug is the same way that Regina had looked at Emma in the van. 

 

(And Regina does her job with New Guy; but when the episode airs, the media is so busy raving over Victory Rose that Victory Outlaw is an afterthought. And even Leopold starts watching them calculatingly. 

 

_Witch Hunt_ works out okay.)

 

* * *

 

**in which regina gets the “emma treatment.”**

 

The hiatus this year is longer than usual. They’re airing back-to-back episodes in the fall and then the spring, allowing for more time to work on new projects or do conventions. Emma does an independent short that Cora sends her off to and then she’s home again, and things are better now.

 

She isn’t quite over Regina, but, well…friends, right? 

 

So it’s very casual and she’s at Henry’s birthday party again this year and sometimes she drops by for dinner. And sometimes Regina gets a sitter and they do drinks with Marian. They’re not often alone, not when their quiet moments are weighted with the awareness of what had gone on between them and what Emma still can’t shake. 

 

They do their requisite interviews and promote their love stories and wait, both of them silently dreading what’s to come.

 

And then, finally, they’re back on set.

 

Emma’s feelings on New Guy, when she tries to be objective about him, are mostly pure, unadulterated loathing. It’s not just that he keeps slowing down filming to showboat or that he’s pretty much surgically attached to Regina’s hip when they’re on set. It’s that being around him seems to…diminish Regina, somehow.  There was a time– when she’d met Emma, even– that Regina would never have tolerated New Guy hanging onto her and getting handsy with her or her set fans, but the fight has drained out of her as feedback begins to come in from Victory Rose fandom.

 

Regina feels so much and loves so hard that Emma imagines that she’s invested so much into her fans. She’d been a supporting actress kind of movie star before now, always cheated of her full potential and gaining a negligible fanbase. She’d only ever guest-starred on CBS shows and older-geared dramas and the closest she’d ever gotten to a fandom was the time her character had dated Kalinda Sharma on The Good Wife.

 

This level of adulation, people flocking to her and sharing so much of themselves with her–

 

It’s different. And she’s been changed by it (“By the people around me, too,” she’d murmured, and Emma had ducked her head and muttered something about Jamaal).

 

And now the fans are angry and betrayed and Emma doesn’t monitor Regina’s mentions after The Incident**, but she does go on Tumblr and sends irritated anonymous messages to anyone vilifying Regina for doing her job until there are too many people to send messages to.

 

(**The Incident had happened during _Witch Hunt_ and Emma still can’t figure out if it had been a PR fail or not. They’d been doing the required liveblogging at the Mills home– Emma on the floor and Regina on the couch behind her– and Regina had tweeted something half-enthusiastic about Victory Outlaw.

 

Some Twitter asshole had jumped on her a moment later, spewing verbal abuse about Regina and Victoria with no end in sight, and Regina had sighed and attempted to scroll past it before Emma could see. 

 

Instead, Emma had completely forgotten her own authority and sent them a series of nasty tweets in response, accidentally sicced both her fanbase and Regina’s on them, and the Twitter account had been deleted before the end of the episode. And maybe they'd deserved it but Regina had gotten very stern and then horrifyingly defeated about it, and the latter had been enough to ensure that Emma would never do it again. 

 

The Victory Rose fandom, meanwhile, had rallied in support of them and against the troublemaker, and it had bolstered most of the Victory Rose shippers’ spirits quite a bit. The rest, of course, think that Emma and Regina have mended their differences to join together in their hatred of Victory Rose.

 

_Honestly,_ fandom.)

 

When Henry sees Emma feverishly scrolling Tumblr, he shakes his head, long-suffering. “You might be developing a savior complex, Emma.”

 

She swats at him. “Shaddup, kid.” It had been easier when she’d been the target, somehow. She’d understood it– understood them and why they’d been so angry at her, because she’d been just as angry with Cora and Gold and Leopold. But when it’s Regina who’s being treated in the same way, she’s furious at her impotence at last, determined to avenge Regina in any way that she can.

 

“They’re allowed to be disappointed,” Regina tells her again and again. “They’re allowed to feel personally offended by this story. That’s what we do– we perform stories that resonate.” She leans back into the couch. “When I got the script for _Save Jamie_ , I must have cried for an hour.” Emma nearly smiles because _of course_ Regina had. And then Regina adds in a lower tone, “When I met you, I spent a full day after that pulling every string I had to get you fired so Jamie would have an actress of color playing his mother.” 

 

“Oh,” Emma says, taken aback. “I thought you just hated Rose on principle.” Now that she’s met Henry’s birth mother, she understands a little better.

 

Regina sighs. “My mother informed me that they weren’t recasting David or you to suit my _agenda_. And then informed me that Rose would always be white, regardless of the actress, or the show would fail. And then threatened Jamaal’s job. I backed off. But I can’t blame the fandom for taking this out on me.” She’s vindictive and can hold a grudge a decade long with some of her colleagues; but she forgives fandom like she would her own child, and Emma wonders if maybe that’s what they are to Regina. 

 

* * *

 

**in which a closet proves to be big enough for two.**

 

This season has a lot of great character stuff for both of them, but script after script and Emma’s beginning to get the uneasy feeling that they’re finally falling into the same trap as many other shows. 

 

It’s just–

 

She still gets her scenes with Regina because they’re wildly popular; but more and more, her interactions are with Killian exclusively. And at the same time, Victoria has some kind of flirtation going on with Robin Hood. It’s beginning to feel very…juvenile?

 

Their next script is a Killian showcase, and she and Regina are at Wardrobe at two in the morning, picking through their selection for what they’re going to wear for it. “This dress,” Emma says, pulling it off Regina’s rack. It’s tight and red and has a little slit over the front like it’s a modest version of a comic book heroine’s cleavage window. “Trust me, if nothing else appeases the fans, this dress will.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

 

“Are you objectifying me?” Regina asks archly. Emma’s eyes widen in denial. “I’d thought that you in particular, as an actress in Hollywood, would understand the danger of reducing women to their bodies.”

 

“I didn’t mean to–“ Emma sputters, and catches the evil gleam in Regina’s eyes a moment too late. “Oh, _come on!_ ”

 

“This is a feminist show, Emma Swan,” Regina says, eyes dancing. “Or at least they say it is. That means I have to wear something like…” She snatches a very plaid shirt from Emma’s rack. “This.”

 

“That’s one way to send the Victory Rose shippers a message,” Emma says, straight-faced. 

 

Regina snickers approvingly, tugging out a vest and matching it with the shirt. “See if Mother catches onto that.” She selects something warmer for herself, a jacket that Emma’s pretty sure had been in Rose's wardrobe back in Season One. “Victoria is not trying to kill you in the dress,” she says, looking appalled at the idea. “The bloodstains will never come out.” 

 

“I thought you were tossing me off a bridge.” 

 

“And what if you splatter?” 

 

They’re both giddy, too overtired to censor themselves or keep from going too far, and Emma sighs and says, “I can’t splatter. I’m a _love interest_ now.” Which is an exaggeration, but not by very much, it feels sometimes.

 

Regina laughs and does a terrible imitation of Killian’s voice. “So glad that shrunken black heart of yours was horribly broken by an evil flying monkey! I’ll pick up the pieces, _mate_ ,” she teases.

 

Emma grins despite herself and does her best New Guy impersonation. “Here’s my _wrist_ with a _tattoo,_ do you see a _tattoo soulmate pixie dust_ –“ and they’re both laughing. It’s been a long day of filming and it’s two in the morning and Regina’s eyes are so bright.

 

Emma holds onto Regina’s hands and flips them, displaying the flower on her own wrist. “Look! Tattoo! Kiss me,” she sighs dramatically.

 

And she’s kidding except for that thing where she’s maybe in love with Regina and Regina must know, and she shivers when Regina’s hands slide up her wrists and arms and bury themselves in her hair. “It seems that I have no choice, Rose Hood,” Regina murmurs, her lips curving upward.

 

Emma’s eyes flicker to said lips.

 

The door is thrown open and New Guy says loudly, “Ah, Regina! There you are.” Emma hisses a curse under her breath.

 

Regina drops her hands and nods politely when he offers her a ride home. (He’s moved to town already and bought a split-level just a block away from Henry and Regina. Emma _really_ hates New Guy.)

 

Emma hates, hates, _hates_ all of this except Regina with her eyes shining as she mocks their current plight and they hide from it all in closets together. 

 

(Hiding in closets. Ha. Ha. Ha.)

 

* * *

 

**in which a standoff is resolved (and emma still can’t figure out how).**

 

The problem with being so good at your job is that when you’re suddenly lukewarm on something, people notice. And everyone notices that Victory Outlaw isn’t taking off.

 

Regina does her job but her heart isn’t in it, and the media is saying so and the fans are saying so and the audience tracking for it is rock bottom. And Regina is at a frenetic pace these days, moving from extreme to extreme– satisfaction-guilt-determination–

 

Emma’s cliche little story with Killian is still wildly popular and she’s been caught up in selling it (equally halfheartedly, but Killian’s brooding face seems to do most of the work. To New Guy’s astonishment, his own face doesn’t seem to be working the same magic as Killian’s, and Emma can be smug about _that_  even if Killian is an ass more often than not), but she still finds excuses to drop by the studio on her days off and duck out for coffee with Regina. Bumpy as their road here has been, they’re finally finding a place where they’re comfortable and safe. And it’s with each other.

 

Emma yearns and dreams and forces herself to stop, because whatever Regina might feel for her, it isn’t going to be what Emma can’t seem to tamp down. Emma’s always been so quick to duck and run when she feels the slightest glimmer of _wanting_ that this is an alien experience to her, so desperately longing for something she can’t have and still allowing herself to be confronted with it every day. 

 

It’s worth it. It’s enough. It has to be enough. She still has Regina, even if it won’t be…

 

It’s enough.

 

The end of the season is coming closer– four episodes left to air and only part of one left to film. Victoria is the Evil Queen right now during Rose’s journey to the past, and Emma gapes at her ass in leather pants before they shoot until Regina pokes her on the forehead and says, “They’re not as bad as some of your skinny jeans.” 

 

“I was looking at the ridiculous hat,” Emma says defensively.

 

“Right,” Regina says, and pulls on the riding coat, which goes as low as a dress around her back. Emma is still staring at her ass beneath it until Regina smirks wickedly and slides the hat down to cover it. Emma jumps. 

 

Still, though, she can’t help but notice Regina’s eyes on her when they’re both in ballroom dresses, Emma’s cleavage very much on display for the world to see. They film a scene together in studio and when it’s done, she gives Regina a long, one-armed hug, watching Regina’s alarm as her eyes flicker down again and again and again. Emma doesn’t dare laugh at her.

 

Regina comes in the next day even though she isn’t filming with a kale salad for them to share and homemade grilled cheese for Emma. “I have to make sure you eat something green on occasion,” she says, rolling her eyes.

 

_You sent me home with a spinach quiche yesterday,_  Emma nearly points out, but thinks better of questioning Regina’s overtures when she makes them. Instead, she lounges on the love-seat in her trailer with a root beer while Regina picks at the salad on the other end of it, her stockinged toes brushing against Emma’s thighs.

 

It shouldn’t be a surprise when someone storms into the trailer to break up this quiet idyll, but somehow it still is, especially when Emma sees who it is.

 

Cora. Gold. Leopold. The door is flung open and they all file in, standing as a unit at the front of the trailer. “Regina,” Cora says darkly. “I was told you were here.”

 

“Is something wrong?” Emma asks, a hand moving instinctively to grip Regina’s ankle. This has never happened before. Cora has made the occasional visit, and Gold has come in once or twice with a quick missive, but all three of them together is…unheard of, really. And they aren’t here for Emma. _Savior_ , she can hear Henry’s mocking tone in her ears as she tenses, protective behind Regina. 

 

“The numbers are wrong,” Gold hisses, looking more displeased than he’s ever been. 

 

Cora clears her throat. “We’ve accepted a lot from you, Regina. The constant attitude, Henry’s set visits– even your constant demands on plot and character. But that’s when you’ve been doing your job.” 

 

Regina shakes her head. “I _have_ been doing my job– Is this really a conversation that we need to have in front of Emma?” She doesn’t look embarrassed. She looks angry, worried, and just as protective as Emma feels.

 

“Oh, I think so,” Cora says, voice sleek and assured. Emma’s eyes narrow. “You’e been sabotaging your onscreen relationship,” she accuses. “This is no time to be self-indulgent. I’m running a show, not a nursery. The time for coddling you is over.” 

 

Emma says, “Hey!” Regina stiffens. “It isn’t her fault that you cast an asshole who can barely act,” she says stubbornly. “Regina’s doing all she can.” 

 

“Emma, don’t–“ 

 

But Gold rounds on Emma, his eyes gleaming with malice. “You,” he snarls. “You and your little…your Victory Rose fixation. That’s what this is about?” He laughs in disbelief. “This is your agenda?” 

 

“I do my job,” Emma says, not giving an inch. Cora is eyeing her now like a stray cat she’s about to toss into the cold. It’s a familiar look, one she’d seen throughout most of her childhood, and Emma isn’t fazed even as something withers and dies within her. “Regina does her job.”

 

Cora scoffs. “Please. As though all of Storybrooke doesn’t know your… _inclinations_.” Leopold clears his throat but Cora still says it like it’s a dirty word, her lip curling as she leaves no room for doubt of her implications, and Emma gapes at her.

 

It’s finally happening. Cora’s been waiting to use this against her for months– maybe longer, maybe since Season One before Emma had learned to be careful– and now she’s finally about to be exposed. To be fired for it, maybe, tossed out as expendable. To experience a Cora Mills tough-love outing where Emma would have no choice but to swim desperately against the tide to survive. 

 

And Regina drops her fork into her salad, a Mayor Stone-esque sneer on her face, and says, “That’s enough.” She angles herself so she’s sitting forward, between Cora and Emma, and her voice is cool. “Are you looking for a lawsuit or for a discussion?” she says pleasantly.

 

Gold’s brow creases again, eyes shifting from Emma’s pale, stubborn face to Regina’s dark eyes, and Emma can nearly see the gears turning in his mind. Regina stands abruptly, extending a hand to Cora. “Let’s take a walk, Mother,” she says.

 

“I think that would be wise,” Cora agrees, victory in every syllable. 

 

Regina turns back to Emma once, and Emma is gifted with a look Regina normally reserves for Henry– warm, soothing, with the understood _it’s going to be okay_. Emma sits, frozen with distress as Regina leaves the trailer, and Gold cuts her off before she can bound after them. “If you value your worth to us at all,” he says, eyes gleaming in a reptilian way, “You will let Regina clean up her own mess right now.”

 

Leopold begins to interject something and Gold holds up a hand in warning. “There’s little more expendable than a star who goes rogue,” he says. Leopold looks mildly apologetic, but not very. “Careful now, Miss Swan.” 

 

Emma sinks back down onto the couch and sends Regina a quick text when Gold limps out, Leopold shuffling behind him. _Still waiting in my trailer. Come by when you’re done._ On a whim, she picks out the koi-on-a-flagpole emoji to punctuate the text. 

 

She waits for Regina until she’s summoned to set again, and when she returns, Regina still isn’t there. She’s sent a one-emoji response, and Emma stares at it for a long time, uncertain what it means. 

 

It’s a single rose, red and bright and lonely on Emma’s screen.

 

* * *

 

**in which there is an unexpected twist.**

 

The next time Emma sees Regina, it’s the last day of filming and they’re doing a few scenes at Granny’s from the beginning and end of the finale. The whole cast is here today and Regina hasn’t arrived yet, so Emma’s entertaining herself by being beaten roundly at Words With Friends by Jamaal. “How are you even getting such a decent education during filming?” she groans, eyeing his last word.

 

He grins at the screen of his phone. “I manage okay. Henry said you were an easy win.” 

 

“Who wins between the two of you?” Emma asks suspiciously, because she’d always assumed that Regina had given Henry a hand at wiping the floor with her.

 

“Not telling,” Jamaal says, miming zipping his lips. 

 

“So Henry, then,” Emma challenges, and Jamaal laughs and shakes his head. 

 

She’s cut off from her questioning by Mary Margaret, who taps her shoulder and says, “Can we talk outside?” She’s bouncing a little, joy threatening to erupt from her frame with every moment, and Emma half-thinks she’s pregnant before she seizes Emma’s hands on the steps outside the Granny’s set and says, “I want you to be my maid of honor.”

 

“Oh!” Mary Margaret already has Emma in a tight hug before she can respond, and Emma feels warmth all over at the idea of it. “You’re sure you don’t want Ruby to do it?” she ventures.

 

“I want you,” Mary Margaret says, beaming. “Ruby will be a bridesmaid. I was thinking about asking Regina but maybe that can be a…maid of honor job?” she ventures, blinking rapidly as though to persuade Emma that she’s innocent.

 

Emma narrows her eyes at her and then laughs. “I’ll ask her. I think she might even…” Her voice trails off as she catches sight of Regina and New Guy heading down the street.

 

For a moment, Emma thinks they must be filming, and she looks around for the cameras. But there are no cameras rolling. _There have to be_ , she thinks dazedly, because none of this can possibly be real.

 

New Guy's hand is at the small of Regina’s back and she’s smiling up at him with energy like she’d never quite mastered onscreen. He says something and she laughs that modulated laugh that isn’t quite free but isn’t Victoria’s either.

 

He leans down to kiss her and she tilts her face up to meet it.

 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret says, and then she peers over her own shoulder to what Emma’s staring at and breathes, “Oh.” 

 

Emma stands in the doorway of the diner with fists and heart clenched. Regina ducks out of the kiss, glancing around, and her eyes lock onto Emma’s. She sucks in a breath that Emma can hear from ten feet away and gives her another one of her Henry smiles, this one tinged with what can’t possibly be longing.

 

Emma stands very still and watches.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE DON’T GO YET.  
> 1) This is not going to last very long. Definitely not as long as canon has, and to better end.  
> 2) As you may have surmised, everything is not as it seems here. Read on for answers!  
> 3) Regardless of Regina’s romantic status, New Guy will still primarily be in the background of scenes. This isn’t a story about him, it’s about Emma and Regina and how they cope with this situation, and I've already written "so does this make us both the other woman" once, lmao, I swear I'm not doing again.


	10. Chapter 10

**in which new guy is everywhere.**

 

“It’s really wonderful, isn’t it?” Mary Margaret chatters, tilting her head so the dressmaker can work on her collar. So far, being a Blanchard maid of honor seems more like a title than anything. Mary Margaret’s been working on this wedding for the whole season and it’s scheduled for a week before filming begins, and Emma’s sole task thus far has been to select the bridesmaid dresses and accompany Mary Margaret to her final fitting.

 

Well, that, and listen to her go on and on about New Guy and Regina. “After all this time!” Mary Margaret says. “I never thought she’d find love again.” 

 

“They’ve been dating a few weeks, Mary Margaret,” Emma says, her stomach squeezing painfully at the thought of it. “ _Love_ might be jumping the gun.” The season is over now and Emma had signed up for only one con this summer– her first ever beyond SDCC. Regina and New Guy, however, have been signed up for hers and two prior to it. 

 

Emma’s been watching them unfold on Twitter as the burgeoning relationship has, photographs of tiny touches and brief kisses plastered _everywhere_. She’d followed New Guy on Twitter when he’d become a recurring cast member and now she’s regretting it; because while Regina hasn’t posted anything other than one or two posed pictures, New Guy seems to delight in finding every instance of their relationship online and going with it.

 

And why wouldn’t he? He’s sold out all his cons when he hadn’t come close before, and the tracking for Victory Outlaw shoots up with the last couple of episodes after the relationship becomes public. Emma grits her teeth and does her best to like him and fails miserably. 

 

“They realized they had feelings for each other when they did their final scenes for the season,” Mary Margaret sighs. “Just like David and me! Isn’t it romantic?” Her eyes are shining with enthusiasm and goodhearted adoration for Regina, and Emma doesn’t have the heart to do anything but agree to that face.

 

The thing is, Regina doesn’t owe her anything. Regina doesn’t act as though anything has changed for them, and maybe it hasn’t for her. She just now…also has a boyfriend Emma can’t stand. And Emma’s heartbreak should never be Regina’s concern. 

 

He’s _everywhere_ now, Regina’s date at events and replying to every tweet she makes on Twitter and Emma’s actually surprised that he hasn’t been underfoot when she comes over for dinner. She’s surprised about…the whole relationship, really, because as tortured and conflicted as Regina’s been about Victory Outlaw, she’s never been the most tolerant of people. And New Guy is _so. Fucking. Annoying_.

 

Henry and Jamaal are graduating junior high this June, and Emma slips in a few minutes late and New Guy is sitting in _her_ seat beside Regina. Marian tosses her an apologetic look from Regina’s other side. 

 

Emma slides into the seat on New Guy’s other side and he puts an arm around her chair and smiles boyishly. “He’s a good lad, isn’t he?” His voice is too loud, enough that they get a few dirty looks, and then someone gapes and says New Guy’s name in that irritating starstruck way. He beams back at her.

 

Emma stares at his arm pointedly. Regina hastily shushes New Guy and spares Emma that pained smile she’s been giving her recently. “I’m glad you could make it,” she murmurs.

 

“Well, it’s Henry and Jamaal, isn’t it?” Emma says, snippy, and stares at the stage with all the focus she can manage. (Which means she keeps glancing back at Regina. Which means she sees Regina’s eyes on her too many times.)

 

Jamaal is waylaid by fans as he struggles to get back to Marian after the ceremony, and Marian’s boyfriend handily parts the crowd, smiling genially at the people who recognize him and reminding them gently, “All our children are celebrities today. Let’s not take the spotlight from them.” Emma ducks past him, Regina right behind her, and they form a protective kind of barrier around Jamaal to make it through the crowd.

 

Someone snaps a photo of them– are there  _paparazzi_ here?– and Regina starts, shifting away from her immediately and moving back to New Guy. “Let’s take a picture with Henry in his graduation robes,” she suggests, taking his arm and steering him past the paparazzi. Emma follows, overwhelmed and frustrated and feeling useless.

 

Regina asks Emma to take the photo, which is very nearly her last straw– Regina, Henry, New Guy, all with blinding smiles and looking for all the world like a happy little family– but then Regina turns, smooth and unbothered, and says, “You don’t mind taking one for Emma, do you?” 

 

Theirs is outside, far from the paparazzi trying to snap photos of them all, and New Guy takes several under Regina’s sharp instructions. There’s one with the two of them just behind Henry, pride in their eyes and across their faces. Emma sticks in on her fridge and it hurts so much that she swaps it out for one with just her and Henry and Jamaal instead. 

 

She tucks the one with Regina into a drawer and tries hard not to be bitter.

 

The paparazzi have a few dozen pictures from the graduation, most of Regina and New Guy and those perfect little nuclear-family-smiles, but there’s one as an addendum posted only to Twitter– a half-indistinct photo of Regina and Emma and Jamaal, pushing their way through a crowd. Emma is staring ahead in that photo, face determined, and Regina is watching her with a face she can’t read. 

 

It’s very blurry, anyway. She hopes that’ll be enough for both Gold and Victory Rose fandom.

 

She doesn’t print that one out, but she saves it to her camera roll and texts it to Regina. _Good_ , comes the response, and then nothing more.

 

* * *

 

**in which emma meets and greets (sober).**

 

_victory rose: the only fandom in the world where the lead actresses refuse to be seen in the same room fml @EmmaSwan14_ , is the top favorited and retweeted tweet in Emma’s notifications right now. Emma sighs and ignores it. As she does the top tweet on her timeline, which is a photo of Regina haloed by light as she stares out an airplane window. Her makeup is light and her eyes are soft and if it hadn’t been New Guy tweeting it out, Emma might have been wonderstruck by it.

 

But it is, and Emma instead shrugs it off and heads to the con alone. Henry is staying with Marian on the other side of the world and the other con guests this year are recurring actors Emma is only vaguely friendly with. She does her first meet-and-greet, talks about Rose and Hook until she’s out of descriptions from Gold’s cheat sheets, and moves toward a few fans who’ve been hanging back until now.

 

“It’s my first con,” she says, grinning. “So what’s good to do around here?” 

 

They look at her with apprehension and a little awe. “We love you,” one fan blurts out and looks embarrassed. “I mean, all of us. Our fandom. We really love you.”

 

“Your…” Emma’s baffled for a moment. “Well…thank you?”

 

The girl is blushing furiously and one of her friends takes pity on her and cuts in. “Twitter is kind of crazy, you know? We just wanted you to know that we love you. You’ve done such amazing things for Rose and she’s…she really means a lot to us.” The girl shakes her head, out of words as well, and Emma spots her earrings for the first time. Each is a rose, a hand making the V-victory sign embossed over the closed petals. 

 

“You’re Victory Rose shippers,” she says, her heart skipping a beat. All three fans bob their heads, eyeing her warily. 

 

“Most of us here are,” the first fan says, gesturing to the group that’s clustered around Emma again. “We’re just…we didn’t know if you wanted–“ She blushes again at the dagger eyes being directed at her by some of the fans that she’d just pointed out as fellow shippers. “Sorry.” 

 

“No, don’t be sorry,” Emma says, taken aback. “I’m…I’m really glad to meet you all.” They all smile at her, still guarded, still worried. Being around them is like sitting with New Guy and Regina all over again, yearning for something just beyond her reach and incapable of stretching out and touching it. “I hope you’re looking forward to Season Four.” 

 

“We are.” They bob their heads again and someone else breaks in from the larger group, tiring of the awkward stand-off with a question about Rose and Baelfire. Emma turns to them, distracted but still with an eye on the Victory Rose shippers.

 

They’ve stepped back, the first fan now looking agitated as she gestures to Emma, and Emma doesn’t know what she’s done wrong with them but she’s sure it’s _something_. “I should–“ she starts, but her handler for the event is wrapping her up, shaking his head as she starts back to them. She shrugs him off, heading to them, and they stare at her again uncertainly. 

 

“Thank you for coming,” she says finally, and reaches out to hug the first fan. It’s awkward and the fan lets out a little squeak, but Emma hugs her tightly, tries to convey a thousand unspoken words and emotions with it. “I love you all, too,” she manages, and she steps away and heads for the door before her handler can reprimand her. 

 

Twitter is abuzz after that meet-and-greet, and Emma frowns deeper and deeper still as she reads the furious battles waged on her behalf. 

 

_@EmmaSwan14 we love you! don’t let the victory rose shippers make you uncomfortable!_

 

_smh at people who have to force their fucking crackship in @EmmaSwan14’s face when she wants to talk about her real storylines._

 

_These events need better security wtf @ Victory Rose fandom HONESTLY @EmmaSwan14 we got your back._

 

She sighs and stands when there’s a knock at her hotel room door, opening it so Regina can slip inside. “I feel like everything I do is put under a microscope and then twisted for everyone’s personal gripes,” she mutters.

 

Regina laughs, not unkindly. “Did you really tell a Victory Rose shipper that you love all your fans?” 

 

It sounds general and dismissive in the tone Regina offers it, and Emma’s eyes widen in protest and then defeat. “They _hate_ me,” she moans. “They think I hate them.” 

 

“No one hates you,” Regina murmurs. “They just can’t grasp how much you do love them.” Emma leans against her, sliding an arm around Regina’s waist, and Regina lays her head on Emma’s shoulder. 

 

Emma keeps scrolling through the hellhole that is Twitter right now, Regina cackling a little at some of the sharper phrasing, and it’s only after a few minutes that she ventures, “Shouldn’t you be with New– with _him_ right now on your…European vacation or whatever?” 

 

Regina sits up, eyeing Emma for a moment before she laughs. “You’re still calling him New Guy in your head, aren’t you?”

 

“Whatever,” Emma says sulkily, and Regina kisses her sweetly on the cheek and rises. 

 

“Take an early night, Emma. You’ve got a panel in the morning.” Emma touches her cheek and stares at Regina as the other woman flushes delicately and flees.

 

* * *

 

**in which emma goes undercover.**

 

She’s been drowned in a torrent of gifts since the con had begun and now she looks through them, wide-eyed at the sheer number of them and how much effort has been put into them. There are scrapbooks and drawings and care packages, some for her and some for Rose and some for assorted ships. There are letters, stories about how Rose has resonated for them and friendships they’ve made and–

 

There are so, so many coming-out stories, stories that have Emma poring through them again and again with a lump in her throat that she can’t seem to swallow. Emma’s signed only a few dozen Victory Rose photos at most, and they’ve all been ambiguous enough that she can’t tell if they’re meant to be romantic or not. But her gifts are overwhelmingly from a queer fandom, about Victory Rose and Rose and Victoria and she–

 

She feels almost as though they’re all undercover here just as much as she is, pretending to be the fans that Gold has deemed _acceptable_ and not the ones who cling to a story they’ll never see onscreen. The show isn’t a hospitable environment anymore and even their one proclaimed ally is now dating her onscreen love interest.

 

She’s just finished her panel and she hadn’t had a single Victory Rose question, and just one vague one about Victoria. And yet…the audience isn’t lacking for fans, based on her gifts, and it gnaws at her like it had when she’d been silenced, too. She can accept it when it’s _her_ , but not when it’s her fanbase.

 

The last question of the day had been from one of the fans she’d recognized from the meet-and-greet, though she can’t pin them down to a ship.  _What message do you most want your fans to get this weekend?_

 

“I want you to know that it’s more than just..” she’d started, the words sticking in her throat. “That…whoever Rose is kissing at the end of the story, that isn’t what I want you to take from the story.” 

 

She doesn’t think Victory Rose will ever happen, doesn’t think that the victory they all need so badly will be on Happily Ever After, and she clears her throat and blinks back tears. “What I’ve gained from the show…the ideas of love, of hope, of family…I hope you also carry those parts of Happily Ever After with you forever.” 

 

She hasn’t looked at Twitter since then, unwilling to see how that particular message has been turned into a weapon by everyone involved. Instead, she’s picking through her gifts and trying hard not to think about the panel going on right now with New Guy and Regina. 

 

She flips over one parcel, already open and checked by security, and pulls out a sweatshirt. There’s no message, but it’s the same symbol as she recognizes from the fan’s earrings last night– the silver rose, the fingers raised in a V sign etched onto it. _Victory Rose_. She tugs the hoodie over her head, and struck with frustration, she puts on a pair of sunglasses and stalks down to where the panel is.

 

“Ms. Swan,” her handler mutters, sounding alarmed. “Are you sure this is wise?” 

 

“I’m not really sure of anything,” Emma mutters back, finding a seat near the back of the room. Someone across the aisle looks at her sweatshirt and gives her a thumbs-up.

 

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, if she’s just going to sit there with security lurking behind her and listening to Regina go on and on about Victory Outlaw like it _matters_. If it’ll just be Regina flirting with New Guy and listening to questions, each more intrusive than the last, as Victory Rose shippers sit in silence and endure it all.

 

Emma crosses her arms defiantly over the Victory Rose logo on her shirt. She’s going to be in _such_ deep shit if anyone realizes who she is. She should just…leave…right?

 

The next question is from someone who giggles a little and then asks, “Was…um…did you use tongue during your kisses? Onscreen, I mean.” Regina’s face freezes and New Guy guffaws. There’s a titter through the room and Emma is up and walking to the line for the microphone without any forethought, gripped with a need to do _something_. 

 

They’re wrapping up now, but the con staff see her handler hovering behind her and must realize who she is, so they wait for one last question and then hand the microphone to Emma. Emma puts on a voice, accented and higher than her own, and Regina mouths _Em–_ before she catches herself, looking very worried.

 

“Uh.” Emma swallows. “Why is it that you think so many queer people see themselves in Victoria?” It’s stupid. But she doesn’t have any questions about the story or how Regina feels about Victory Rose. She knows _that_ as well as anyone can. And she feels exposed as Regina eyes her for a moment too long–

 

(Long enough for the fandom to debate what Regina means by it, if she’s tired of Victory Rose fandom or a sympathetic supporter, if she’d met a man and promptly stopped caring about them all. But that’s later.)

 

–And answers carefully. New Guy has his hand on Regina’s thigh and she shifts delicately away from him before she begins to speak. “I think that Victoria is someone who’s experienced a lot of the marginalization and isolation that a lot of gay people go through,” she says, and laughs ruefully. 

 

“Maybe she deserved it a bit more than anyone else. But that same idea…of not getting a voice in your own story beyond being the bad guy…I can see how that resonates.” The audience is hanging onto her every word. Emma shrinks back, feeling miserable under the kindness in Regina’s eyes. “And Victoria found a family and a place to belong. She has Jamie now, has Snow and…and Robin…and she has Rose,” she breathes, and Emma stumbles back from the microphone. 

 

Regina is still talking but Emma ducks her head and runs, hurrying out of the room past curious stares and heads to the bar in rush of humiliation.

 

And then she gets drunk.

 

Very, very drunk. 

 

* * *

 

**in which emma meets and greets (a little less sober).**

 

“You know what?” she says, smacking her hands on the side of the bar. Her handler is still nudging her, reminding her that she has an autograph session in the morning and another meet-and-greet, and she’s been sending him for more drinks every time he protests. Sometime around when everything is blurry and indistinct, it all warps so much in her mind that it’s become impossibly clear instead and she knows what she has to do.

 

“What?” her handler says, glancing worriedly at the security detail arrayed along the bar.

 

She stumbles to her feet, fumbling to take off her sweatshirt as a shock of warmth runs through her, and she slurs to him, “Where’s Regina?”

 

“She has a meet-and-greet going on right now,” he says, pointing to a door just across from the bar. “You’re in no state to– Ms. Swan!” 

 

She staggers past him, letting someone else from her security detail support her as she pushes her way into the door– (“That’s the door, Ms. Swan,” he corrects her, easing her a few steps over and tossing a smirk at her handler.)– and nearly falls on her face in front of half a dozen fans. 

 

“Ungh,” she groans, pulling off her sunglasses to squint at them. She thinks distantly that it might have been her best idea yet to take off the Victory Rose sweatshirt before now. They look alarmed enough as it is. Why had she come here? Her grand plan has dissipated already and she can’t recall.

 

Regina is entertaining, as she does, classy to the end. She’s seated on a couch with her legs crossed and a half-full glass of wine between her fingers like this is a casual cast dinner, holding court over her adoring fans. No one in that corner has noticed Emma stumble in– except, of course, Regina. 

 

Her eyes widen in consternation and Emma thinks dazedly that it’s about Regina knowing that Emma’s about to screw things up. But instead, she crosses the room swiftly, taking Emma by the shoulder. “You’re going to give yourself alcohol poisoning in one night,” she hisses, but she just sounds worried. 

 

Emma trips a little and Regina wraps a careful arm around her waist, murmuring, “Make sure there are no pictures,” to Emma’s security detail. “Sorry, do you mind?” she says gently to a fan, and Emma blinks and she’s curled up on the couch beside Regina now, a decorative blanket laid over her.

 

“Ten more minutes until this is over,” Regina assures her, and then laughs her special fake laugh for her fans. “This is Emma’s first con,” she says airily. “I think she may have crashed.” She keeps a warm hand on the blanket from then on, Emma watching through sleepy eyes as the fans stare at her and at Regina’s hand. And they all just look taken aback.

 

Ah, yes. They’re supposed to hate each other or something. Regina’s thumb is absentmindedly drawing circles on her side and Emma thinks it’s probably not very convincing anymore. 

 

The room is cleared after the meet-and-greet and the worry on Regina’s face shifts to frustrated anger. Emma knows what’s coming. She’s going to be berated for intruding everywhere at a con when they weren’t even supposed to cross paths, breaking all of Gold’s rules and probably screwing things up for them both. And there’s something Regina’s holding back, an even stronger frustration that doesn’t feel directed at Emma at all, and Emma shuts her eyes in an attempt to ward off the wooziness.

 

It doesn’t work. “I’m sorry,” Emma mumbles. “About earlier.” 

 

Regina strokes her hair in an almost motherly gesture. “I’m not.” 

 

“I didn’t want…I wanted them to have something,” she admits, blinking and blinking until she can make out all of Regina’s features again, the regret swimming in them as strongly as the hope.

 

“I know,” Regina whispers. She doesn’t say _I did too_ but Emma wants to believe it and so she does. 

 

There’s a knock at the door and they spring apart, Regina’s fingers moving against her palm like she doesn’t know what to do with them when they aren’t touching Emma. New Guy pokes his head in. Interrupting as always. “Fucker,” Emma mutters, and Regina bites back a smirk.

 

“Heard you needed some help transporting a friend,” he says, quirking a grin.

 

“Fucker,” Emma says louder, and Regina shushes her. 

 

That’s where they leave off that night, and that’s what the con-goers spot- Regina and New Guy supporting her through the building as her head lolls against New Guy’s shoulder. 

 

Twitter declares them the perfect parent-types. Some _other_ fucker tags her in a photo with a caption that reads _step-grandma taking care of her wasted granddaughter!_

 

There are a few people at Emma’s own meet-and-greet whom she might recognize from Regina’s the night before (it’s all kind of hazy). And she sees them– the timid stares, the way they search her eyes with uncertain boldness and don’t say anything.

 

And they might not have it emblazoned on their sweaters, not in this environment. Not when Emma is silent and Regina is parroting from Gold’s PR cheat sheet about her true love and casually murdering Rose for bringing back his wife. Not when there are a dozen convoluted reasons why Emma and Regina have been marketed the way that they are– always apart, so distant when they can be that rumors about them being friends are dismissed as shipper dreams.

 

But Emma sees the thing they can’t talk about on those fans’ faces and she knows. She forces a smile and makes her way to them, and she gives them noncommittal answers and tries not to let it all spill out.

 

Every day, she’s closer and closer to breaking point.

 

* * *

 

**in which they slow-dance in a dressing room.**

 

“It looks beautiful,” Mary Margaret breathes, staring at herself in the mirror. “Oh, Emma, I can’t believe I’m really–“ She sniffles and Emma hurries to dab at her eyes before she ruins her makeup. “You should go get ready. We don’t have much time.” 

 

“I’m ready,” Emma says reassuringly. The only thing she’d really done for the wedding is talked Mary Margaret out of her original choice for bridesmaid dresses. Instead, the others are all in deep purple and Emma’s wearing her own lilac dress already, hair braided up and makeup done sparingly by the professionals who are covering the _Great Royal Wedding!_ for some bridal magazine. “How are you feeling?” 

 

There had been a whirlwind bachelorette party the night before, and Emma’s still a little hungover from that. She has only vague impressions of what had gone on– Regina’s eyes bright with laughter, Regina’s arm at her waist as they dance, _Regina-Regina-Regina_ so much that she has no idea how Mary Margaret had made it through the night. 

 

She seems fine now, even if she’s near tears, and Emma brightens at the excuse to escape that when she sees Leopold enter. “Daddy,” Mary Margaret says tearfully, and Emma slips out of the room to check on the other bridesmaids.

 

She opens the adjoining door to their dressing room and comes face-to-back with the only bridesmaid still in the room. “Uh,” she says, recognizing _that_ back at once. The dress has a clasp at the top and an open keyhole of skin beneath it, and with the clasp open, it’s too much of Regina for Emma to manage while breathing.

 

Regina breathes in. “Emma,” she says. “Do you mind…?” She gestures at the clasp.

 

“Of course.” Emma slides her knuckles up along Regina’s spine and twists the clasp together, closing it. “Hi,” she says, feeling suddenly shy.

 

Regina turns and it’s _different_ , somehow, than her look for all the events that they’ve been to for the show. She’s wearing a dress she wouldn’t have chosen, simple and chaste and unremarkable. Her makeup is nearly invisible, colored for the event and not to stand out in photographs, and her face glows with a natural light. Her hair is tied up into a bun and only a few locks of it are down on either side, soft but very un-Regina-like. The effect of it all together is stunning, striking in an understated way that steals Emma’s breath away.

 

Emma swallows past a lump in her throat and says, “I…The dress looks good on you.” 

 

Regina is staring at her, their faces mirrors of each other’s, and her eyes are clear and unreadable at once. “So does yours,” she says, sounding shaky. “I still can’t believe you talked me into this.” 

 

“I didn’t want to do it alone,” Emma admits, trying on a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever done a formalwear event without you. It wouldn’t be the same.”

 

Regina laughs, barely a breath. “We couldn’t have that, now, could we?” For all her claimed demurrals, she hadn’t protested at all when Emma had brought it up. She’d agreed with a wicked smile like she might have had ulterior motive, but today Emma senses no malice from her. “It’s going to take tiresome to new levels. Pretending to _like_ Mary Margaret–“

 

“ _I_ like Mary Margaret!” 

 

“So many photographs,” Regina sighs. “You’re going to walk down the aisle with David’s brother feeling you up.” 

 

“Probably,” Emma says dismally. 

 

Regina’s lips twist with displeasure. “I’m going to walk down the aisle and see Leopold standing at the other end of the room and probably vomit.” 

 

“Not on the dress!” 

 

“Ballroom dancing,” Regina continues on, tireless. “Did you pick up any of _that_ in clown school?” 

 

_This_ point Emma has a response to. She grins, taking Regina’s hand and twirling her, _step-step-back and around and twirl_. Regina blinks, brow furrowing in confusion as she lets Emma guide her. “You…” Comprehension settles in. “Of course. You learned on the show.”

 

“I danced with David this season, remember?” Emma takes the lead David had had, pulling Regina close and then shifting away. Regina laughs as Emma turns Regina's shoulder and they’re cheek-to-cheek when Regina leans back, both of them facing forward with their hands joined together and raised. 

 

Regina dances like a star, like a flame, like something ephemeral and untouchable. Emma is her anchor and Regina returns, again and again, against her and across from her and then apart again. Emma’s fingers brush along her waist, wanting, craving– 

 

Regina stays this time, dances barely inches from her with their breath mingling and their eyes locked, and when Emma watches too long, she can see Regina’s eyes glistening with tears. “Sorry,” Emma whispers, horrified. “Did I…Did I step on your foot?” 

 

The tears fall and Regina smiles beneath them, lips quavering like a ray of sun through the rain. “No,” she says, her voice strained. “No, I’m not… I don’t know why I’m… It’s a wedding,” she says finally, laying her head against Emma’s shoulder. Emma’s hands settle on her back, the two of them still swaying in a dance they can’t seem to stop. “Weddings make everyone insipid and weepy, right?” 

 

Her hands are resting on Emma’s upper arms, fully in her embrace, and Emma savors every moment that they’re held together like this. Regina curls in closer to her and Emma ventures, because there can’t be any other reason for all these tears, “You’re thinking about Daniel, aren’t you?” 

 

There’s silence that can only be acquiescence. And then, a murmured, “You look beautiful today, Emma,” Regina’s lips brushing against the shell of Emma's ear as she whispers it. Emma holds Regina tighter, kisses her temple and sways with her, and they don’t move from their place until there’s a knock on the door from the adjoining room.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of OQ kissing and a bit more of the usual below. This is a long one, and I didn't even get to the point where I wanted to tease 4b, alas. I hope you enjoy! <3

**in which the silence is deafening.**

 

Somehow, Emma had managed to convince herself that going back to work with Regina and New Guy would be a lot like the cons– a lot of teeth-grinding time, but some quiet downtime with Regina as well. 

 

It is not.

 

She’d made it as far as letting herself into Regina’s trailer on that first morning before she’d spotted an enormous bouquet of flowers and edged back out, infuriated for no discernible reason. “Ah, a break in! I thought I was Robin Hood,” New Guy says from behind her, amused. He strolls past her, catching the door before she can close it and settling down onto the couch. He props up his feet on the arm of it, boots still on.

 

“Regina gave me the passcode,” she finally remembers to point out, staring in horror at the dirty boots leaking into the couch fabric. Regina’s going to _kill_ him. Emma’s going to have to hide the evidence. This is–

 

–Nearly as frustrating as it is when Regina strolls on set a few hours later with a hand tucked into New Guy’s arm, leaning in and smiling up at him like he hadn’t put his shoes up on the couch. Emma had done that _once_ back in Season Two and been banned from Regina’s trailer for a week. Her eyes had done that burning fury thing that had made Emma’s stomach drop with desire and Emma hadn’t forgotten that particular rule after then.

 

For her boyfriend, it seems, Regina makes exceptions. Emma’s jaw clenches.

 

They film only a bit before SDCC is upon them, and this year, it finally goes off without a hitch. 

 

_Well_. As far as Gold is concerned. New Guy isn’t a regular and hadn’t been invited, but he sits in the front row of the panel with Henry between him and Marian and grins that stupid smile up at Regina while the moderator goes through the questions. “I think everyone wants to know what’s next for Victoria and Rose,” she says. “How is Victoria going to handle Rose bringing back Robin’s wife from the past?” 

 

Regina laughs. “Well, you know Victoria and grudges,” she says, stage voice on.

 

“That’s why we’re seated so far apart,” Emma offers, her laugh rising to near-hysterical levels. Jamaal, from beside Regina, casts a worried look in her direction.  But the audience laughs with her without questioning it. Twitter, she’s sure, will be less forgiving.

 

(Twitter is quiet when she checks it beyond one or two comments patting her on the back for her “shade.” She doesn’t know why she finds that lack of angry tweets so distressing.)

 

When the moderator opens to audience questions, New Guy is standing at the front of the line, grinning up at them. “My question is for Regina,” he says.

 

“We’re shocked, really,” Emma mutters to David. Her microphone catches it and there’s a moment of silence before she laughs, that same high-pitched cackle that the audience doesn’t seem to notice is desperate. 

 

New Guy laughs with her, beaming up at her as though they’re friends, and he turns back to Regina. “What would you say are Robin Hood’s most attractive qualities?” he prods. The audience cheers. 

 

Regina leans forward in her seat, eyes dancing. “Well, he’s a good father,” she says. “And a fairly tolerable kisser.” The audience awws. Regina’s cheeks are a delicate shade of russet as New Guy climbs up onto the stage and pulls Regina into a sweeping kiss as the moderator scurries off for a spare chair. Emma stares straight ahead at the audience, a smile planted on her face.

 

When she looks back, it’s to Regina’s eyes sharp again and fixed on her, and Emma’s smile tightens.

 

Today, there’s very little of the same energy of previous years that Gold had done so well at tamping down. The ship wars are all over, Baelfire gone and Rose and Hook beginning a relationship and Victoria deep in this… _thing_ with Robin. It all feels sanitized, simple and straightforward and easy at last.

 

Emma’s quietly miserable as she makes it into the press room, and she glances over at Regina once. Jamaal is sandwiched between Regina and New Guy, staring up at them as Regina laughs at one of New Guy’s jokes (and no matter how much she might like him, even she seems bewildered as she laughs). Emma’s sitting with Killian and she seethes silently at the happy little family at the next table. 

 

It’s Jamaal’s first year at SDCC and for some _ridiculous_ reason, she’d thought that the three of them might get to be together. But no, that would be a little too _Jamie has two mommies_ for Gold.

 

She autographs photos and glances up at the ones that feature Rose and Victoria prominently, but the fans are smiling and betray nothing. She talks about Rose Captain ad nauseam, but there are little to no snide comments in her Twitter notifications.

 

If she hadn’t been on this show for the past three years, it might have seemed that all was well. But she has, and she knows that Victory Rose fandom is slowly fading away.

 

And something within Emma feels like it’s beginning to fade, too.

 

* * *

 

**in which some glass is broken.**

 

Emma avoids Regina. Step One to trying to cope with this new reality: persuade yourself that neither you nor your character is in love with your costar or her character. And it’s easy, really. They have barely any scenes together for the first few episodes– Regina doesn’t seem to have many scenes at all, actually, and Emma is being dragged around by whatever the show’s flavor of the week is. They’ve got a Big Disney Property this year, and it’s all very bland and straightforward, as mandated by the higher-ups. 

 

Anyway. It’s easier like this. Regina has her busy social life with New Guy and Henry is away in summer camp for a month this year, finally given a bit more freedom now that the birth mother scare has passed. She gets a text from Regina every now and then, a quick _free for drinks?_ that she can reply to with _exhausted tonight, maybe another time_. She smiles at Regina on set and turns away when New Guy starts flirting and she lets that part of her that feels diminished now spread through more and more of her.

 

And then she comes back to her trailer one afternoon and Regina is sitting there, a script on her lap and another on the table. “I picked yours up,” she says. “I brought lunch over, too. Cold read?” Her eyes are determined. Emma stares at her, her heart wrenching a little at the sight of Regina alone and focused on her. 

 

“Do we…?” Emma presses her lips together. “Do we even have any scenes together?” She flips the script open and her eyes widen and her shoulders slump. 

 

It’s a  _Rose_ story, flashbacks to Rose’s girlhood and a friend she’d made on the run. And the present story is with Victoria, struggling desperately to connect with her again.

 

Sometimes she’s just so deep into Rose that Rose is inextricable, that she feels her too deeply and experiences it all with her. And she’s tearing up over these damned pages before she hits the ones that Regina wants to read, tearing up over the vulnerability contained within them and the defeat that Rose and Emma both share right now.

 

She makes it to Regina’s selection and swallows back a sob, the sheer emotion of Rose’s plea to Victoria too much. Rose talks about having people who love her but only Victoria understands what it’s like _to be rejected and misunderstood_ , but she’d been _just looking for you to be my friend_ –

 

It’s _hope_ again, blooming within her in those raw places that she’d scrubbed bare of it. It’s the promise of Victory Rose even when it’ll never be real, and she spares a thought to the fans, revitalized, before she’s overcome. “I thought we were going to do a cold read,” Regina says, eyes still fixed on her.

 

Emma can’t. Emma can’t look at Regina like a partner-in-crime anymore, and somehow that’s even worse than it had been before she’d _known_ that they’d felt the same way. (Do they still? Regina gives her nothing.) “I have to get back to filming,” she chokes out, setting the script down. “I have to–“

 

Regina is in front of her before she can exit the trailer, her eyes still impossible to read. “At least take this with you,” she says, thrusting the pan of food at Emma. Emma takes it and flees. 

 

This script means that she can’t escape Regina, though. It means days and nights of filming with her and all this emotionally exhausting writing. Victoria snaps at Rose and Rose recoils, and then the director calls “Cut!” and Regina moves toward her as though to comfort her and Emma dodges away.

 

Con season is beginning to seem like an idyll in retrospect, even with New Guy underfoot. Now he shows up every afternoon with coffee for all of them even though he isn’t even _in_ the episode, for fuck’s sake, and Emma endures it with very little grace.

 

“Oh. You again,” she says, gritting her teeth. 

 

“I wouldn’t miss a day,” New Guy says, patting her on the back. It’s just far enough from her ass that she can’t confirm if the groping had been intentional, and she freezes, glancing over at Regina. Regina is staring daggers at New Guy, her lips curled into a false smile.

 

And that’s another strange thing Emma’s beginning to notice. When they’re on set, they’re the perfect couple, touchy-feely when New Guy pushes it and Regina smiley and affectionate. But when they’re all in private, Regina dropping by Emma’s trailer with another meal and invitation to run lines (Emma can’t. Emma won’t.) and New Guy popping in after her, it’s different. The gentle blushing and the handholding is gone and Regina is sharper, more defensive. 

 

Henry returns to town halfway through their filming and makes himself at home in Emma’s trailer. “He _insists_ that he’s worried about how much I read,” he grumbles. “We’re supposed to ‘play ball in the park to get my testosterone flowing.’ Please tell me you’re coming for dinner sometime soon.” 

 

“Henry…” Emma begins, and Henry sighs.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t come to hang out with him, either.” Henry’s never been all that enthusiastic about New Guy, but his time away seems to have made him even more hostile. 

 

And Regina…

 

Regina walks into Emma’s trailer, New Guy still attached to her side, and she shrugs his arm off her shoulder and squeezes in beside Emma and Henry on the love-seat. Emma still can’t read how she treats him when they’re away from prying eyes.

 

Not hostile, exactly, not like Henry. But resentful. Definitely resentful. 

 

On the day they film two scenes in Victoria’s vault, Regina sends New Guy off to go keep Henry company while they work in studio. “We’ll do something a little more masculine than you’re accustomed to!” New Guy says, clapping Henry’s back so hard that he stumbles. “You need a strong father figure in your life when you’re surrounded by all these women, lad.” 

 

Henry mimes a gagging motion at them and Emma peeks at Regina, watching the smirk curl up a hair before it’s suppressed. “Have fun, sweetheart,” she calls after them.

 

“Ah, I intend to,” New Guy calls back. Emma does a little gag-miming herself.

 

They run through the first scene quickly, the hostility of it burning, and Emma lets Rose come to her instead of pulling her out. The second scene is almost all dialogue, Rose’s earnest admission of what it is Victoria means to her at the end of the episode, and Emma gets a little choked up and smiles a little too brightly for Rose, unguarded and timid and tentative. 

 

“Perfect,” the director says, and Regina puts a hand on Emma’s back, gentle between her shoulder blades, and steps out of the room with her. “Drinks?” she suggests.

 

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Emma points out weakly. 

 

“Still.” Regina’s hand has moved down to dip under her jacket, stroking the small of her back over her thin shirt, and she looks so desperate for Emma to say yes that Emma nearly wavers.

 

“I just…I have to get back. Work on my lines for next episode,” she mumbles, shrugging. “It’s a busy season.”

 

She can’t do this anymore, can’t pretend that this is a status quo she’s comfortable with, and so she curls up on the love-seat and scrolls blankly through tweet after adoring tweet and feels more alone than ever.

 

* * *

 

**in which it’s been a year and everything (nothing) has changed.**

 

With the Big Disney Property comes a formal Hollywood premiere and a whole lot of new publicity. Rose's story is supposedly at the center of it, the narrative focused on her, and Emma’s been inextricably linked to it all. 

 

She puts on her best smile– she’s an actress, she can do this– and arrives on Killian’s arm. He’s gleeful and smug, “I knew I could tear those walls down, Swan!” and the media loves it nearly as much as they do when Regina steps out of a limo with New Guy. He looks shockingly snappy in a suit that Regina must have picked out; comfortable to hover behind her, answering questions before she can get to them. 

 

Her laugh filters over to where Emma is talking to reporters and Emma looks up, spots New Guy with a hand casual and possessive on Regina’s hip, and the domesticity of it all burns at Emma’s throat. “I’d better get inside,” she says swiftly, walking on and away from them.

 

She watches the premiere with Killian on one side and Jamaal and Marian on the other, Jamaal’s head resting against Emma’s shoulder and his phone in his mother’s bag in his lap as he texts Henry surreptitiously. Emma glances down once and sees some very snide commentary on New Guy’s acting. _Mom is too good for this train wreck_ is Henry’s response, and Jamaal grins and texts a set of Victory Rose emoji to him.

 

Across the aisle, Regina’s leaning against New Guy, her eyes drifting closed, and Emma waits until the end of the episode before she makes a mad dash from Killian and the theater to the too-fancy bathroom outside the main hall. 

 

This one has an attendant who gives her a dirty look when she sinks onto a couch in the outer room of it, burying her face in her hands and remembering that _fuck_ , it’s been a year since the last time. She’d sat on another couch and kissed Regina and believed, for a moment, that anything had been possible. That Regina might… 

 

Now she’s resentful and angry and lonely, and when Regina steps into the bathroom, she almost storms out. 

 

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. It’s Regina.

 

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay,” Regina says evenly, powdering her nose. (Regina is the only person Emma’s ever met who genuinely goes to the bathroom to _powder her nose_.) 

 

Emma glares at her back and realizes when Regina twists that she can see Emma in the mirror. “I’m fine. I don’t…I don’t care about me,” she says, and means it. “I care about them. Our fans?” It’s meant to be an accusation but instead it comes out high and unsure.

 

Regina sets down her makeup brush. “I’m sure you and Killian made a lot of Rose Captain shippers very happy tonight,” Regina says, and it sounds cool and almost hostile from her.

 

Emma’s hackles rise. _She’s_ one to talk. How dare she. How dare she? “How _dare_ you,” Emma sputters. “How dare you– when you’ve been– are you happy they’re gone?” she demands.

 

And it’s funny, because she can handle being shut out by her fandom or by the narrative. She can handle every insult thrown out at her and another dozen PR lines about how Rose and Victoria hate each other. She can manage it every step of the way when she has Regina, when they have this connection with each other and their fanbase where they’d both known instinctively that the Victory Rose shippers are important.

 

And maybe they’re right, and that’s what’s been aching at Emma for months now. Maybe Regina’s found a man and given up on what Victory Rose means when it’s still so vital for Emma. She’s nauseous at the idea, so sick that she staggers over to a toilet stall and gags into it.

 

Gentle hands hold her hair back. A less gentle voice says, “You’re not having Captain Hook’s baby, are you?” 

 

“Shut up,” Emma groans, and Regina laughs wryly and fills up a cup of water for her. She guides Emma back to the couch, settling in beside her with a solicitous hand on her knee. 

 

Emma drinks in silence and Regina says, “They aren’t gone.” 

 

“What?”

 

“They tweet me letters. They’ve told me…so many stories at the cons, and the ones who ship Victory Rose have never hidden it from me. A group of Victory Rose shippers have sent me flowers every Monday since filming began this year.” 

 

(Emma had thought that those flowers were from New Guy and she’d hated him a little more for acting like a gentleman when he’s _clearly_ an ass.)

 

“Emma,” Regina breathes. “Not every road bump is an ending. I’ve lost fans, I know that. I see…they’re so angry all the time. Just like you are. Just like I am,” she says, and Emma hears steel in her voice. And she doesn’t understand why Regina is so angry when she’s the one dating New Guy willingly, but…

 

Okay.

 

“They’re angry, but that doesn’t mean I love them any less,” Regina says, and her voice is distant and mournful and Emma doesn’t know who she’s talking about anymore. She presses a kiss to Emma’s clammy forehead and slips out of the room before Emma can ask.

 

Emma sits there for a long time, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

 

* * *

 

**in which a kiss stirs up a storm.**

 

The new season is plodding along. Things are still strained between Emma and Regina, and New Guy continues to be _everywhere_. His role in the season has only expanded since their early episodes and now he seems to be in every one of Regina’s scenes, on set with her nearly every day she’s there.

 

Emma drops by on an off day for a routine meeting and makes the mistake of stopping by the set. It’s New Guy and Regina filming today in Victoria’s vault, Regina with untidy hair and dark eyes sparkling with promise. New Guy’s hands are all over her and Regina-as-Victoria looks at him with so much love that Emma can only stare in devastation.

 

“Emma,” Regina says, catching sight of her, and Emma holds up a hand and stumbles back, afraid to step near this intoxicating version of Regina. New Guy comes up behind her, his hands sliding comfortably around her waist, and Regina flinches away from him.

 

Emma tortures herself by staring some more, watching New Guy’s ease with Regina and Regina’s dark, dark eyes. It’s a little like sliding her hand onto a knife and digging deeper and deeper, gradually, until she's bleeding out on the ground. _This is what you’ll never have. This is fiction and you can’t even have that._ “I have to go,” she says, pale and nauseous, and Regina grabs her hand and looks so impossibly stunning that it takes a full minute before Emma can pull away.

 

So…that happens. The image haunts Emma’s dreams, stays with her when she wants nothing more than to see it gone, and she throws herself into her work in an effort to avoid it all. She’s got plenty to do as the season is on its last few episodes, and she films with Regina and stays determinedly distant still. 

 

“I’m not going to chase you around set,” Regina says frustratedly, stalking after her in direct contrast to her words. “You can’t punish me for the _script_.” 

 

“I’m not holding anything against you,” Emma says, casting an eye around for a private corner where she can escape this conversation. She _isn’t_. She’s just desperate to be away from Regina, desperate for a reprieve from this incessant longing. “I’m just…I’m busy, okay?” 

 

“No, it’s not _okay_ ,” Regina snaps after her. They round a corner together, behind the blue cgi screens. “I know you’re–“ 

 

They both freeze, staring wide-eyed at the scene in front of them. It’s Jamaal and Henry. It’s Jamaal and Henry _kissing_ , and Emma lets out a low whistle. “Kids,” she says, clearing her throat, and they spring apart and look horribly embarrassed. 

 

“We were just–“ Henry starts, but he’s cut off by his mother, her voice low and furious. 

 

“Get the hell away from him, Henry,” she snarls, and Jamaal and Henry both gape at her. “Of all the careless, _imbecilic_ things for you to do– I can’t believe you would– how dare you!” 

 

Henry shifts to stand in front of Jamaal, who looks horrified at Regina’s reaction. “We were just seeing what it was like!” he says, looking confused and hurt. “We wanted to! Why couldn’t we–“ 

 

“Have I taught you nothing! How could you be so reckless? How could you think this was okay?” Regina is seething, her voice rising and falling with every moment they stand there.

 

“None of this is your business!” Henry shouts back, defensive and frustrated and looking almost frightened. “I thought you loved Jamaal!”

 

“Of course I love Jamaal!” Regina snarls. “This isn’t about Jamaal! This is about your unacceptable behavior!” 

 

Henry’s fists clench at his sides. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore! You don’t get to judge me for this when you’re…” He’s pale and shivering and Emma finally seizes Regina’s arm.

 

“Hey!” she says, and Regina’s arm shakes so violently that it’s a struggle to hold onto him. “Hey. Stop it. You’re scaring him. Them,” she adds, because Jamaal is still behind Henry, the rage in Henry’s eyes a counterpoint to the fear in Jamaal’s.

 

“Well, then, maybe he should have thought before he…” Regina quivers in place, frustrated tears in her eyes as Henry glares at her. “Henry, do you have _any_ idea what you’d have done to Jamaal if people had _seen_?” She yanks her arm out of Emma’s as Henry shakes his head slowly. “You could ruin his life with a single _idiotic_ whim and–“ 

 

Now the fear in Jamaal’s eyes is fading into comprehension, Henry still sulky and afraid. Regina’s words prickle like the stirrings of a revelation in the back of Emma’s mind, and she parses them and understands with rising fury. “Look, if you and your boyfriend are having issues, fine,” she snaps. “Don’t take them out on Henry.” 

 

Regina’s anger is fading, replaced by new fire. “We’re not–“ Regina starts, but an irritated Henry cuts her off with a derisive snort.

 

“He isn’t her _boyfriend_ ,” he mutters, scuffing at the dirt. “He isn’t anyone.” He storms off, back toward the trailers.

 

Regina looks stricken. “Henry, wait!” 

 

Emma says, “What, now he’s your fiancé? Did you elope? Are you _married_ now?” She knows she sounds bitter and doesn’t care, not anymore. Not when Regina is somehow still bitter enough to power an explosion like the one she’d just set off. 

 

Regina whirls around, eyes flashing. “Emma, can you please not be this obtuse for _one fucking minute_?” She’s still so angry, still shaking minutely, and her wet eyes are back on the place where Henry had exited the stage. 

 

“We all want things we’re never going to get,” Emma growls, giving up on Regina Mills, and stalks from their corner to follow Henry’s exit.

 

* * *

 

**in which the storm abates at last.**

 

She doesn’t bother checking Regina’s trailer. She heads straight to hers, unsurprised when she pushes the door open and Henry’s curled up on the love-seat with her secret bag of chocolate. “Hey, kid.”

 

“Did my mom send you?” 

 

“Nah.” Emma nudges him over, capturing a cushion of the love-seat and a piece of chocolate. “I think she’s pissed at me, too, now.” 

 

“She never yells at me like that,” he says glumly. “I bet if I’d kissed a _girl_ she wouldn’t have cared.” 

 

“Of course she would have. She’s your mom.” But with the walk over here, the pieces of Regina’s fury are beginning to slot into place and Emma’s own anger is fading in turn. “We’re not…Regina was a kid in the industry, too, same as Jamaal. I think she probably knows better than we do what that can be like if you go around kissing the wrong people.” 

 

Henry snorts, scornful, and Emma amends, “Not that you’re _wrong_.” She sighs. “You should really talk to your mom about this, not me. If you’re…uh…questioning your sexual identity.” 

 

“Don’t say _sexual_ ,” Henry says, wrinkling his nose. “You’re, like, fifty.” Emma lets out a noise of outrage and he shrugs, serious again. “I don’t know if I’m…I don’t even know if I liked kissing Jamaal. I was trying to figure that out when you showed up.”

 

“You don’t have to decide anytime soon,” Emma says gently, uncomfortable with this whole discussion. She’d been happily kissing girls at Henry’s age, very certain that she had had no interest in boys, and then she’d reconsidered just a few years later. “You don’t have to decide at all, if you don’t want to. You’re fourteen years old. You’ve got time.” 

 

“Yeah,” Henry says, eyes flickering to the door as Emma hears low voices moving closer. “You should really talk to my mom about _him_ , Emma.” 

 

Emma blinks at him, startled.

 

There’s the sound of the passcode being punched into the lock and they both straighten in their seats, watching silently as Regina steps in. She’s gripping Jamaal’s hand tightly and he’s somber but no longer fearful, and she presses a kiss to the top of his head before she crosses the room to Henry.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I’m so, so sorry that I snapped at you. I was…” She kneels in front of him, hands on his and eyes still brimming with tears. “I try to protect you from so much that sometimes I forget that you don’t always understand the same consequences that I do.” Henry watches, his face still closed off, and Regina squeezes his hands in hers. “I love you. No matter who you’re… I’ll always love and support you.”

 

Henry nods, reluctant to forgive but unable to reject the apology, and he slides out from her grip and stands. “I’m going to craft services,” he says. “Want to come, Jamaal?” It’s a challenge to his mother, who meets his gaze evenly and then offers a slight nod to Jamaal. 

 

Jamaal says, “Sure,” and glances back to Regina one last time before he leads the way from the trailer.

 

Regina stands up, gazing at Emma with her fingers curling and uncurling like she wants to reach out but doesn’t know how. Emma sighs and says, “Sit.” 

 

Regina sits beside her, ankles crossed and hands on her lap. “Thank you for talking to him,” she says stiffly. 

 

“I didn’t really know what to say,” Emma admits, self-conscious. “I’m not…I’m not a mom type. I don’t know how to give the talk to a kid.” 

 

Regina says, “You’re a perfect mom type,” and a new kind of aching joins the dozen others clamoring for attention from Emma’s heart. “You’re very, very good with him.” She laughs ruefully. “And you dealt with him today better than I did.” She takes in a breath. “The risks that Jamaal’s carelessness now can lead to in the future…the pressure he’d be under because he doesn’t grasp the consequences…you don’t understand,” she says haltingly, and the final piece of the puzzle slots in to place.

 

Emma says dully, “I _don’t_ understand,” because she’d thought she had, after Milah, but she’d been wrong. “But you do.” She searches Regina's face for a moment, for the confirmation that she so desperately wants, but Regina gives her nothing.

 

Instead, she says, “Before the summer, Mother gave me a choice that wasn’t a choice. I took it. I fixed the mess I’d created with Victory Outlaw.” 

 

“You…” It’s ridiculous, what Regina’s implying. “PR relationships aren’t real,” she protests, and yet…

 

New Guy’s numbers had shot up accordingly, and they’d been media darlings from the moment they’d announced their relationship. Regina had tolerated so much from New Guy that Emma had really begun to believe that they were in love. There’d been no other reason for why Regina would ever have consented to that relationship.

 

There’s still no reason for it. “Why would you ever agree to…” Regina’s hand lands in hers and rests on top of it in the same way she’d held onto Henry. And Emma remembers at last that tense day in her trailer, Gold and Cora making accusations and insinuations about Emma’s sexuality until Regina had stepped in. “ _Regina_ ,” she whispers, dumbfounded.

 

“You’re very new to Hollywood,” Regina says, and she laughs shakily, like she can’t quite believe that they’re discussing this. She’s staring straight ahead and Emma’s eyes are glued to her profile, to the firm, determined set of her jaw and the tenderness in her eyes. “He isn't as bad as he seems,” she murmurs.

 

Emma narrows her eyes at her. “He absolutely is.” 

 

“Well. Yes, that’s fair,” Regina concedes, squeezing Emma’s hand in hers. “Henry likes him, though.” 

 

“Henry _loathes_ him.”

 

“Does he really?” Regina looks startled. “Good for him.” She snickers and Emma’s heart springs up like it’s never been carved up until Regina speaks again. “It doesn’t matter what I want. It doesn’t matter that I think…that Victoria deserves better. That you deserve better,” she mutters regretfully, pressing a warm hand to Emma’s cheek. 

 

Emma laughs and Regina looks offended. “What now?” 

 

“You’re more focused on Victoria than on…” Emma hesitates, leaning into Regina’s hand. “You deserve better, too.” Regina begins to shake her head, and Emma pushes onward. “And I don’t think you comprehend what kind of power you have. Haven’t you seen the ratings lately, breakout star? Cora needs you.” 

 

Now it’s Regina’s turn to laugh, fond and mocking and still short. “So, what? I march up there and inform Mother that I’m done with all her bullshit? Do you have any idea what she’d do to both of us?”

 

“I would,” Emma says. She wants to say more, to understand how someone could put that much on the line for _her_ , that Regina could want to protect Emma as fiercely as she does Jamaal. She wants to strangle Gold and Cora and New Guy for sapping so much of Regina’s life from her these past months. She wants to tweet furious criticisms of everything Hollywood to anyone who might listen. 

 

She wants to _break rules_ , and she wants to fight battles for Regina like Regina’s been fighting for her. 

 

And Regina massages her temples and looks at Emma again with that same tenderness from before. “Yes, you would,” she says, and it’s with renewed conviction.

 

* * *

 

**in which we diverge from the story as we know it.**

 

Cora and Regina Mills do not raise their voices when they fight. Instead, they descend to vicious depths, velvety danger and well-chosen words with new words laced behind them, threats within threats within threats.

 

It’s nearly impossible to listen in to their conversation the next morning, and Emma digs her fingers into her pockets and strolls back and forth in front of Cora’s bungalow, listening to hissed responses to gauge the mood and whether or not she’s going to need to call an ambulance. The others hover nearby, instinctively knowing that something dire is happening in that room right now.

 

New Guy comes over to join her, clapping Emma on the back. “What Regina wants, she gets, eh?” Emma rolls her eyes at him and Jamaal catches it and stifles a smirk.

 

When Regina does finally emerge, it’s triumphant, head held high and her fingers trailing briefly along Emma’s arm as she walks past. “You,” she says, eyes landing on New Guy. “We need to talk.” He reaches for her hand and she yanks it away, the start of a smile curling onto her face.

 

Emma heads to Regina’s trailer, planning to wait out whatever’s happening there, but she’s been in there barely minutes before a trio of workers poke their heads in. “There have been some complaints about the structural integrity of this trailer,” one says. “We’ve been ordered to take it apart and rebuild it over the next few weeks.” 

 

“Weeks. To rebuild one trailer.” 

 

“That’s what we were told.” The woman in charge looks dubiously at the wall of the trailer. “I guess there’s some wear and tear at the corners?” 

 

Emma’s jaw works beneath her skin. “Let me guess. Cora called your boss ten minutes ago and demanded it be done immediately.” 

 

They look at each other reluctantly, and Regina says from behind them, “Let it go, Emma.” 

 

“If that’s a pun…” But she rises and brushes past them, staring down the two men who shove their way into Regina’s trailer.

 

Regina tugs her down out of the structure, leading the way back to Emma’s trailer. “Mother needs to believe that I’m being punished. Better my trailer than Henry or Jamaal or you.” 

 

“So it went well,” Emma guesses, only half-joking.

 

“She told me I was expendable,” Regina says reflectively. “That with a few well-placed episodes she could make Victoria their most hated character and tear down my entire fanbase from within. She told me that Killian could take my spot as fan favorite and they could write him all the stories meant for me. She told me that I could go back to playing mistresses in bit parts in movies.” Emma stares at her in horror. But Regina smirks, easy and free. “And then she told me that I was going to die alone.” 

 

“Well, that’s obviously not true,” Emma objects. Regina eyes her for a moment, the humor gone from her face and replaced by something else entirely. “I’m sure Henry will be there.” The odd look remains, and Emma ventures, “And if you go first, I promise I’ll make an appearance at your funeral in full clown costume.” 

 

Regina’s laughter rings out loud and unrestrained, her eyes bright and her head tilted back to catch the sun, and Emma can’t help but laugh with her.

 

The trailer is only the start of Cora’s “punishments.” Regina does her job and doesn’t question the obscene hours she’s been given– enough to flirt with SAG violations– and a worsened workload. New Guy lurks around on set, looking very morose.

 

Emma brings Regina coffee at four in the morning because,  _whatever_ , she’s kind of proud. (Not that she’ll tell Regina that again. Last time, Regina had flushed and then thrown several very heavy objects at her.)

 

Regina is given new makeup people on the fly; is forced into an uncomfortable dress she’s been vocal about; makes terrible, lovesick declarations as Victoria to Robin Hood; and makes some unnecessarily harsh comments to Rose as the final episodes progress. Henry isn’t allowed on set anymore, but he’s given permission to come to studio and spend time with his grandmother alone. Even Mary Margaret ventures a few sympathetic comments to Regina about her treatment (and Regina gets to snap at Mary Margaret, which makes her smile even wider for a few days).

 

But Cora and Gold and Leopold are businessmen, no matter how vindictive Cora might be feeling. And regardless of her threats, Emma suspects that she does, indeed, fully intend for her daughter to be successful. Cora will settle for no less.

 

And when they get the final script of the half-season, there’s a new twist and goodbye ( _forever_ , reads the notation beside it in the script) and suddenly, people are collecting for a goodbye present for New Guy. (Emma gives the most generous donation of the cast, and Mary Margaret is very proud that she’s “overcome her prickliness toward him.”) And it’s public knowledge that he won’t be returning in the winter.

 

The final Victoria scenes of the episode feature Rose doing shots with her at Granny’s, Cora’s final concession. And when it’s done, Emma coaxes Regina back to her trailer. “I have something to…celebrate the season midpoint,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at Regina. 

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “Right. That’s what you’re celebrating– Did you get _champagne_?”

 

“You bet I did.” Emma pours out the two glasses carefully, passing one to Regina. “To a little victory,” she says, and Regina’s eyes soften. 

 

She plucks a rose from a bouquet Emma had gotten from fans earlier this week, lifting it in a silent toast of its own. “To victory,” she echoes, and they clink their glasses together.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to sleep but sleep is for the weak or possibly less obsessed. All I am is Swan Queen. Here is a chapter.

**in which gold makes them an offer they won’t refuse.**

 

The day after they finish filming 4a, Regina and Emma are called to Gold’s office together. “This is it,” Regina says, pacing in front of the bungalow. “This is when Mother gets her revenge.” 

 

“Your trailer is still on stilts,” Emma points out. “You don’t think she’s drawing this out any more, is she? It’s Gold. He probably wants us to tweet something about the new episode.” They’re about to air _Breaking Glass_ , and Emma is watching the Victory Rose fandom stirring with relief.

 

For all Regina’s assurances about the fans, she has a very different relationship with them than Emma does. She sees what they give her– and they do approach her, do still see her as someone they trust. Emma’s deep in the fandom, trawling Tumblr and Twitter and keeping an eye on their highs and lows, and Emma knows how desperately they’ve been waiting for a reason to emerge. _Finally, finally._

 

“Cora isn’t even in the bungalow,” Emma says, gesturing to where Cora is talking with Leopold and Killian just outside one of the sound stages. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” 

 

And it _is_ nothing, or so they think. “You’re good friends, yes?” Gold says, looking at them expectantly. “Maybe it’s time the world knew it.” 

 

And that’s cryptic enough that Emma and Regina mutually agree to not break the Gay Panic Embargo™ on Twitter and Instagram, not until they know what Gold is up to. 

 

Regina does an interview near the end of the half-season about Victory Outlaw, and it’s all very diplomatic and with an air of finality. She talks about how Robin Hood taught Victoria that she could love again, and he’ll always hold a special place in her heart. And now, Victoria will move forward with that knowledge and–

 

Then she talks about Jamie and about Rose and she doesn’t stop for the rest of the interview. Every question comes back to Rose and Regina doesn’t even notice she’s doing it until they’re both reading the interview in Regina’s living room the next day.

 

Regina rolls her eyes at Emma’s grin and says, “Shut your mouth. What was I going to talk about, Hook?” 

 

Emma gleefully snatches Regina’s laptop from her grasp and skims through Twitter and then Tumblr. Because even Robin Hood’s departure has been met with suspicion, especially when New Guy refuses to concede that he’s gone for good. (He’s started his fans trending #BringBackVictoryOutlaw and it’s had lukewarm response, to Emma’s smug relief.) And this interview– enough to put an end to the relationship at last– this could give their shared fans voices again.

 

And they are celebrating. Some are gloating to borderline obnoxious degrees, some are quietly hopeful, some dubious, and others…

 

She frowns at Regina’s mentions. These aren’t all Victory Rose fans or even angry Victory Outlaw ones. No, there is an unconscionably large number of people spitting vitriol at Regina and at her fans.

 

_I can’t believe that the VRs broke up @ReginaMills’s relationship over a fucking ship. You might hate men but she clearly doesn’t, wtf._

 

_@ReginaMills this is false hope and it’s just going to encourage those Victory Rose people to be even worse to Emma :(_

 

_@ReginaMills @CoraMills @LeopoldBlanchard don’t let the VRs and their hate campaigns ruin the show for the rest of us!_

 

_@ReginaMills bitch you put your costar out of a job over a crackship_

 

_@LeopoldBlanchard why do you let @ReginaMills promote this abusive fanservice?_

 

Emma steams. “I’m going to–“ 

 

Regina seizes her hand before she can grab her phone. “Don’t you dare.” 

 

This is _absurd._ Yeah, they both get plenty of nasty tweets, but never so concentrated in one particular group unconnected to their own narratives, right? Unless Regina gets these all the time. She bites her lip and wonders if there really had been a hate campaign. (Like, she would gladly lead it against New Guy, but–)

 

“There’s no hate campaign,” Regina says, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

 

“ _We_ stopped Victory Outlaw,” Emma reminds herself. Not hate campaigns or the fans or anyone but the two of them. Maybe some of the tweets are true, but Emma doesn’t care about those.

 

“We did it for Victoria,” Regina agrees. She doesn’t say _and for them_ because they aren’t supposed to favor fans or care as much as they do. They certainly aren’t supposed to sway the direction of the show based on what they might feel most connected to.

 

But Emma knows. 

 

The mid-year hiatus is a quiet affair this year. Cora has Emma do another short film that Marian agrees on. “Don’t spend too much time away from Regina,” Marian says lightly when Emma departs. “She gets very grouchy and I’m not here for that.” Emma knows that Marian has been informed of the drama with Jamaal and Henry, but she’s reacted only by becoming subtly more protective of all of them. 

 

Regina has some projects of her own; and they don’t wind up seeing as much of each other this hiatus as Emma would like. They’re back for filming a few months later, rejuvenated and relieved to get back to their old rhythms. The Disney property is gone, New Guy is gone, and Emma does her scenes with Killian with mechanical ease.

 

And Gold calls Emma and Regina into his office again, this time with Cora seated at his desk while he paces behind her. “Not a single tweet?” he demands, irritated. “No selfies? No promotion? I told you to ramp it up.” 

 

“What?” Emma says, bewildered. “Ramp it up? Ramp what–?” 

 

“I’m a practical man,” Gold says, spreading his hands expansively. Cora sits in front of him in silence, her face devoid of expression. “You wanted Robin Hood gone, fine. He didn’t test well anyway. He leans forward and jabs a finger and Emma, then Regina. “But you two…” 

 

“You two _spark_ ,” Cora says, sliding a printout to them. Regina takes it and Emma skims the numbers on it. It’s a chart of the current paid tracking, and firmly at the top of the rankings are Victoria, Rose, and Victory Rose. “I don’t care what you…” Cora waves vaguely at them. “Whatever you do in your free time as long as you’re bringing that spark to my show.” 

 

“Um,” Emma says, still very confused. Hope stirs within her, fragile and disbelieving. “You’re really pairing us up? Romantically?” 

 

Gold laughs, a high cackle like Emma’s never heard before. “This is Disney, dearie.” 

 

_Okay_ , so no. But an excuse to do what they’ve already done? To build up their relationship even more for Victoria Rose fans and for Victoria and Rose? “You’re going to go out there and do your damnedest to make the most of your relationship,” Gold informs them. “Is that clear?” 

 

Cora lacks the same enthusiasm as Gold, her eyes cool and a note of warning in them. They’re slipping toward another precipice and Emma can’t figure out where they’re going, and so she looks at Regina for guidance.

 

Regina hasn’t even noticed her mother. Her eyes are on Gold, the eagerness swimming in her eyes, and Emma hastily says, “Very clear,” before Gold reconsiders. 

 

And really, this is a dream come true. What could possibly go wrong?

 

* * *

 

**in which #VictoryRoseWedding is an actual trending topic.**

 

When Gold does something, he does it well, without skimping or subtlety. And suddenly, all of the promotion is the two of them. They’re working as a team, they’re making magic, and every clip of them from the pre-hiatus filming is suddenly being released for promotion. 

 

And filming now… It’s a very different kind of filming when they're finally able to act out the story they weren’t supposed to. Victoria's eyes are wistful and gentle when she watches Rose, and Rose is in near-hysterics each time Victoria is in danger. They’re _connected_ , the script itself only supporting that fact, and they’re giving it their all.

 

They find excuses to touch onscreen, Victoria’s hands on Rose’s shoulders and touching her hands and Rose leaning into Victoria just a little with each contact. And when they look at each other, it’s with the kind of toe-curling attraction that has Emma lurching up after scenes and taking breaks out back, breathing hard and reminding herself that this is Rose and Victoria and that Emma and Regina are just, just friends.

 

(The crew thinks that she’s picked up a smoking habit. Mary Margaret says disapprovingly, “Oh, Emma,” every time Emma panics and runs outside.)

 

They’ve had pictures taken of them together at official events, but the first selfie they ever take is during _Enter the Dragon_ , both of them breathless in the cold and bundled up outside on set. Emma beams and Regina huddles in beside her and sends out the tweet, _Late night filming and freezing with @EmmaSwan14_ and punctuates it with a snowflake emoji. 

 

“How’s that?” she says, and Emma watches as the stunned, exhilarated responses come pouring in from Victory Rose fandom. 

 

“Perfect,” she says, and Regina tucks her chin over Emma’s shoulder and watches her phone as well.

 

The film a promotional video, a playful intro to the season. Occasionally now they tweet each other, though after years of texting instead, it’s almost awkward to put it all in public. (Mostly one of them tweets about lunch orders and the other is appropriately grateful. Emma hasn't seen people this worked up about sushi since her time in group homes.) 

 

And there are the photoshoots for the new season, which Gold hasn’t bothered with in years. “You have a fanbase already,” he’d said. “No one is jumping into a genre show over promotional photos after Season Two.” But this time, Gold is suddenly talking about media features.

 

Emma poses with Killian, plastic smile on her face as they lean in close. She does a series with her “parents” and then a series with just Jamaal, and her heart lurches again when he’s in her arms like it had with Regina’s _You’re a perfect mom type_. She shakes her head, struggling to push those intrusive thoughts out of it, and follows the photographer to watch Regina instead.

 

Regina poses with Jamaal, too, and does her classic poses with Mary Margaret, and they’re nearly done when Gold has the photographer wave them over. “Have to make them want more, don’t we?” he says, cackling in that same odd way again.

 

They take one photo of their little makeshift family, Regina and Emma and Jamaal. Regina and Emma are both laughing in it, both of them bright and flushed with the energy of it, and Jamaal is beaming up at them instead of at the camera. 

 

At the end of the shoot, Emma is giddy with the power of it, with Victory Rose getting _something_ , and she doesn’t notice that the photographer is snapping candids when she sidles back over to Regina. 

 

“Your hair is coming undone,” she says, sliding her free hand through it to fasten it behind the headdress. They aren’t filming anymore, anyway, and she doesn’t need to do it, but Regina’s lips are curving into a smile when she does. Their eyes lock and Emma licks her lips again. “This is good, right?” she says uncertainly, her hand dropping from Regina’s hair.

 

Regina catches it, gripping it gently in her own. “I think so,” she says.

 

They don’t know they’ve been photographed until the picture of them is plastered across EOnline’s story about the new season, hands together and eyes dark and grave. “Oh, my god,” Emma breathes. It’s the Savior and the Evil Queen, sharing a moment that’s…something _more_ , and Emma’s mentions explode with it.

 

And when Emma ventures onto Tumblr later, it’s like stepping into chaos. There are accusations being flung around, unhappiness, ecstasy. The Rose Captain shippers are fuming even with their own photos, and Emma’s momentarily stymied by that. They’re blaming Regina, of course, insisting that she’s pushing this because she…couldn’t hold a love interest? 

 

Emma has to stop herself from leaving some choice anonymous messages.

 

She hurries over to the Victory Rose tag, hoping for some good news, and there _is._  There are people celebrating and screaming it to the skies. They’re doing some kind of trend– _Where were you when the Victory Rose wedding_ (wedding?) _photos were released?_ and it’s selfie after selfie of crying fans.

 

And then there are the posts that don’t cheer Emma up like they should. There are the tearful ones of _we’ve GOT this,_ of _ENDGAME!,_ of dozens of people shaken to the core by the photo.

 

And it gets only worse when the promo they’d filmed is released, and Emma can feel tiny tendrils of discomfort creeping through her like a warning.

 

* * *

 

**in which mary margaret has some news.**

 

Between Victory Rose and the other dynamics of the season, Emma’s having a good time. There’s a story to mine between Snow and Rose, and Rose is finally reacting to a lot of the shittiest bits of her life that she never has before. Emma’s getting to play so many varied emotions that she’s really enjoying, and she’s startled when she’s called in to talk to Cora and Leopold.

 

“Have I been doing something wrong?” she asks automatically.

 

“Oh, not at all,” Cora says, leaning forward. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You’ve been doing a lovely job. We’re planning on expanding upon this in 5a–“ 

 

Leopold clears his throat. “We do have some concerns.” 

 

Emma blinks at him. Aside from Regina’s story with him, Emma’s never had much to do with Leopold. The producers have their personal pets, and Cora’s been in Emma’s camp since the very beginning– for better or for worse. He’s always seemed very kindly, very placating, but now his face is grave with a hint of judgment. “Concerns,” Emma repeats.

 

“Rose may become the Dark One at the end of this season,” Cora says, and Emma’s eyes widen. “And…the network…is concerned that Rose isn’t a character who inspires enough sympathy from the audience to carry that storyline.” She says _the network_ but Leopold is still frowning down at Emma and Emma straightens, biting back a defiant retort.

 

“What do you want me to do?” she asks instead, and Leopold begins droning on about some kind of publicity campaign where she’ll be tied to their _actual_ popular characters onscreen and off. Killian and Regina will be instrumental to Emma’s success, and Emma leaves that conversation drained and determined to prove them wrong. 

 

The inferiority complex creeps up some days, but other times it hits like a truck. She knows that Rose is all about _ships_ , all about other characters’ stories. She knows that she’s never inspired the same fans as Killian or Regina. She’d still thought…

 

This is still Rose’s story, isn’t it?

 

She’s already vulnerable when she gets an urgent message from Mary Margaret and hurries over to her trailer, only to be yanked inside by her bright-eyed friend. “Emma! Emma, I have to tell you something,” Mary Margaret says, bouncing on the heels of her feet and her face glowing.

 

And Emma _knows_ , just like that. She’s suddenly brought back to that awful night just after she’d made it to a shelter, eighteen and huddled on the edge of a toilet seat moaning _no, no_ as she stares at the test. And there’s no comparison to Mary Margaret’s enthusiasm here, but she isn’t surprised when Mary Margaret says, “I’m pregnant!” and throws her arms around Emma.

 

“Congratulations,” Emma musters up, but Mary Margaret is already launching into a mess of worries and excitement and what she’ll have to buy, how she’s going to tell David– oh no, what about filming?– and then back to the baby itself and all her symptoms. Her hands are in Emma’s and she’s nearly dancing around her trailer, dragging Emma with her, and Emma smiles and smiles and doesn’t think about the part of her that still aches–

 

“And oh! You’ve been through all of this already, haven’t you?” Mary Margaret says, and her face falls. “I’m sorry. This must be– I didn't mean to–“ 

 

“It’s fine,” Emma says quickly. “I…It was a very different situation for me. I never planned to keep a baby.”

 

“Still, you must have thought about him since,” Mary Margaret says, deflating just a tiny bit. “Have you ever thought about trying to find him?” She looks sympathetic, compassionate, and Emma can feel her stomach drop.

 

“No,” she lies. “I mean, I thought about it after Rose…but not really. Especially not after Henry’s birth mother. I don’t ever want to be that person, you know?” She still feels sick to her stomach imagining Regina’s judgment if she _had_ searched for her birth son, and it’s always been a major component in her decision not to.

 

“You wouldn’t be.” Mary Margaret sits down on her sofa, her hands still in Emma’s. “There are registries where you can put in your case number online and the adoptive parents or child can do the same if they want to be found. You can call the agency and ask if they can see if the adoptive parents are interested, or write a letter or–“ 

 

“How do you know this?” Emma asks, intrigued.  

 

Mary Margaret flushes. “I might have looked into it after Henry’s…I just wanted to know if she had another way of finding him. If it wasn’t me.” She squirms guiltily, her good mood gone, and Emma turns the topic back to her big news.

 

Still, though, Emma thinks about it when she gets home that night, when she looks at the photos of Jamaal and Henry plastered on her fridge and when she slips into bed at night and remembers another bed, alone in a hospital with no choice but to give up a piece of her heart in the process.

 

She calls the agency a day later and is politely but firmly refused. “A closed adoption is a closed adoption,” the woman on the other line reminds her. “We have to protect the family first in this case.” 

 

Mary Margaret tells David about the baby and the two of them– as atrocious at secrets as ever– tell everyone on set. They’re inundated with congratulations and suddenly everyone on set has suggestions and advice and it’s all anyone is talking about.

 

Emma slinks off to her trailer and lies on the couch, sitting up with relief when a knock at the door interrupts her thoughts. “We brought food!” Jamaal says, holding up a covered pan from craft services. Henry follows behind him with a plate of freshly cut fruit, and Regina brings up the rear, eyes searching when she meets Emma’s gaze.

 

Had she seen Emma slip away from the ever-present baby talk? Probably. Not much gets past Regina. 

 

The boys sit on the floor and Regina takes a seat on the love-seat beside Emma, passing out plates so they can have a proper dinner. “Henry claims he was sick today,” Regina says, dubious eye on her son. “But somehow he had the energy to make it on set.” 

 

“I learn way more on set with Jamaal’s tutors,” Henry says indignantly.

 

“I’m sure you do,” Regina says indulgently, but she’s watching him with sharp eyes like she isn’t entirely sure he isn’t still sneaking around kissing Jamaal instead of learning anything. Henry and Jamaal both flush and refuse to meet her gaze.

 

“Emma!” Henry says, shifting away a bit desperately. “Is it true you’re going to _kill_ someone next episode?” He bounces, admiring.

 

Regina grumbles, “You were never so excited about Victoria’s numerous murders.” 

 

“You’re my mom. It’s much less cool with you.” But he’s grinning teasingly as he turns to Emma, and that same yearning she’d tamped down for so long is back in full force.

 

It’s been easier to push it aside since Henry’s birth mother had come back into the picture, and before that it had only been a silent longing that she hadn’t dared to voice. Especially not with Regina, who’d have had special reason to judge and dislike her for it.

 

But the birth parents haven’t contacted the agency, and Mary Margaret’s announcement has dredged up enough repressed emotions that she’s crushed by that revelation.

 

It’s been…she’s gotten so caught up in the magic of having this role, of doing something _successful_ with her life, and she’s forgotten entirely how quickly life moves on. And now it’s like she’s suddenly woken up and realized that all her friends are in their thirties, all of them with kids or kids on the way, and she’s still mooning after a woman who isn’t interested. 

 

And all she can think about is a decision she’d made when she’d been eighteen years old that she’d regretted far too late in the game. Not the adoption. Never the adoption. But closing it– believing she’d never want to meet that child–

 

She closes her eyes and buries her doubt in the others’ chatter. 

 

Henry and Jamaal finish before them and make their escapes, and Emma stares at her plate and focuses on the food until Regina leans back and says, “Did you try the registry, too?”

 

Emma gapes at her. Regina sighs. “Mary Margaret _really_ can’t keep a secret. Especially when she’s worried about you.” There’s a grudging respect in her voice, even for a woman she hates, and Emma still gapes. “I assume you called the agency. But the adoptive family might have gone through other channels. And the registry will keep your information in there in the event that the child turns eighteen and wants to find you.” 

 

Her voice is gentle, her hands twisting as they dance closer and then further away from Emma. Emma says stupidly, “I thought you’d be angry.” 

 

“I’m angry at Henry’s birth mother,” Regina murmurs. “I’m angry at the messages Happily Ever After used to send about adoptive families. I’m not…I’m not angry at  _you,_ ” she breathes, her hand finally landing on Emma’s knee. “You’d have so much to offer that boy if he wanted to know you.”

 

“I don’t know,” Emma says, just as the trailer door opens again. 

 

It’s Henry and Jamaal again, breathless as Henry says, “Emma! Mom! They brought Dalmatians on set! You have to come see!” 

 

They’re being dragged out of the trailer moments later, Regina on one side of Emma and Henry and Jamaal on the other, and Emma spares a sentimental thought for a moment that, regardless of how distant her birth son might be, she still has a family of some kind now.

 

She shrugs it off a moment later. She isn’t sentimental. 

 

* * *

 

**in which it’s all too good to be true.**

 

The show starts airing again right around when they’re filming the Cruella De Vil episode, and the reception is enthusiastic and very positive. Emma reads every article she can find, Cora and Leopold’s words hanging over her, and peers through Tumblr to see how the fandom is taking this darker, angrier Rose.

 

And it all comes down to ships, of course. Victory Rose shippers are still thrilled in that way that twists Emma’s stomach. The Rose Captain shippers are complaining about Rose’s screentime with Victoria, about how much more focused Rose seems on Victoria than on Hook. Emma’s never had any issues with the Rose Captain fans– she’s always known that they’re more about Killian than her, but they’re always supportive and affectionate. It’s a shock when she begins to see the angry comments filtering into her mentions this season.

 

“Do you think they’ve finally realized that you only care about Victory Rose?” Regina says, peering over her shoulder during filming one day with a smirk plastered across her face.

 

“What?” Killian looks perplexed.

 

Regina laughs, delighted and smug. “Did you never notice?” 

 

Emma ignores them both and hunches over her phone again. The majority of fans still blame the shift of this season on Regina, but she’s been getting a growing number of accusing tweets and lack of faith in her of late. 

 

She sighs. They’re still her fans, right? And she won’t delude herself into thinking that Victory Rose shippers don’t prefer Regina, too. So she dashes off a tweet, _I love ALL my ships! #RoseCaptain #VictoryRose_ and forces Killian and Regina to squash their faces in next to her. 

 

The selfie garners a lot of buzz, and– fuck, how the _fuck_ are there still angry RoseFire shippers out there? 

 

Well, she’s never going to please everyone. In a cranky moment the next day, she flings herself over the trunk of Cruella’s car and tweets  _#RoseBug is dead_. Which she’d thought was funny, but Gold informs her is passive-aggressive when she’s called into his office.

 

Emma whines a little. “You told me to play up the Victory Rose! That selfie has over fifteen thousand favorites!” 

 

Gold rolls his eyes. “You know, I always assumed Regina was the difficult one of the two of you.” Now he’s watching her calculatingly again, studying her face as though he’s beginning to suspect…

 

He shakes his head. _Nah_. “I don’t care about your personal agendas,” he says blandly. “But you have an actual relationship to sell, too. This doesn’t work if Rose Captain falls apart.” 

 

Which means an added goodbye scene in the episode they’re filming now and protracted kissing. Regina lurks behind them and glowers. (It makes it into the final scene that airs.) 

 

The episode they’re filming now is a road trip extravaganza, packed with Victory Rose scenes, and the set reports are being passed back to the fans already high on Victory Rose. Emma returns to the Victory Rose tag with a kind of morbid need. She has to see. She has to subject herself to the awful sinking feeling in her stomach and know that–

 

The enthusiasm has grown. There are queer people in that tag talking about queer Disney protagonists. They’re talking about the zeitgeist and they’re talking about the future and they’re all so _happy_ and filled with hope.

 

“Emma?” Regina says as she descends the stairs. They’d watched the Maleficent episode together that night, and Emma had even posted a picture of Regina livetweeting on her Twitter. Henry’s finally gone to bed, and it’s just the two of them in Regina’s living room together. “Emma, why are you–“ And Emma realizes that her face is red and splotchy, furious tears in her eyes.

 

“We fucked up, Regina,” she says, and Regina slides in next to her as Emma drops her head onto the couch, Regina stroking her hair and back soothingly.

 

“This was a gift for them,” Regina says, and she takes Emma’s laptop, scrolling through the page she has open. It’s the twitter #Victory Rose hashtag, each tweet more breathless than the last. 

 

“It was a tease,” Emma murmurs. “We’ve been…We’ve made them _hope_ again, Regina. We’re taking them on a wild goose chase for Victory Rose and it’s working.” She feels miserable, so _stupid_ , because how could they have thought that this was a good idea? How could they have have played these games with so many people so emotionally attached to the ship and thought it was an opportunity?

 

These are her fans. They’re kids like she was, and now she’s–

 

She’s betrayed them.

 

“No, honey,” Regina says, and she’s using a Henry voice, the soothing one that she saves for when he’s at his most disconsolate. And then it sharpens, turning back into the Regina that Emma had so loathed in Season One.

 

Today, Emma loves her with every fiber of her being. “We don’t let ourselves be used,” Regina says darkly. “Mother pushes us, we–“ 

 

“We push back,” Emma says, twisting to stare up at Regina. Regina snatches her hand out of Emma’s hair, pink at the line of her cheekbones. “If Gold wants us to play it up, who’s to say we can’t bring it to the point of no return?” Emma demands, and it’s unreasonable and stubborn and stupid. Fortunately, those are all the things she’s best at. “Can’t we just…force it until it’s undeniable? Isn’t this our narrative?” 

 

“It’s highly unprofessional,” Regina comments, but her teeth are bared in a semi-smile. “But I am done being fucked with by Gold and Mother.” She’s stunning like this, rearing up like a fierce, protective mother, and all of Victory Rose fandom are her helpless children. 

 

Emma is in awe. Emma’s fists are clenching and she’s angry and frustrated and so overflowing with hope that it takes everything she has not to lurch up and kiss Regina right then.

 

But they don’t do that.

 

She smiles instead, sitting up to reclaim her laptop, and says, “So, have you ever seen any of those music videos they make?” 

 

* * *

 

**in which our heroes go rogue (and our villain is prepared).**

 

Emma skims the next script on the day that they get it and knows immediately that _Lily_ is their last shot at this. The road trip might be the last time Emma and Regina have scenes together this season, judging from _Mother_ , and they’ve already begun filming it. 

 

They do everything they can do to sell the relationship as something more, to load on the subtext until everyone is choking on it. And every day, the camera crew and PAs and set fans compliment them on Rose and Victoria’s friendship. 

 

_It’s so nice to see two strong women be such good friends,_ tweet the Rose Captain shippers who aren’t tearing Victory Rose to shreds. The new ship name for Victory Rose is #VictorySavior, they inform her. Victory Savior! Friendship only! What’s not to love?!

 

Emma does not use it. Regina tweets  _Hard at work on some #VictoryRose scenes with @EmmaSwan14_ and throws in a selfie of Emma smirking at her for good measure.

 

But the week is nearly over and Emma is getting frustrated. Scene after scene passes and they haven’t been able to act out anything more than heavy subtext, still not enough to have anyone questioning what they’re doing. 

 

They huddle together on location, shoulders pressed to each other as they read their tweets. Earlier episodes continue to air, and the dissatisfaction is rising from Rose Captain fans as the Victory Rose shippers continue to sound hopeful and awed. And Regina speaks in a low voice to Emma and then the director until the crew is ready for them to film one of the big climactic scenes.

 

Rose has a gun pointed at the grown-up (and very white, Emma notices with some unease) version of her childhood friend and Victoria talks her down, insistent and firm and saying all the right things until she finally gets through to Rose. And then–

 

They’ve been talking about it all morning, and on location without a producer to watch this, they’d only had to convince the director. “We want to see how it’ll look in dailies,” Regina says, her voice laced with authority. “Gold did request that we…extrapolate on the script. It’s nothing we haven’t done before.” 

 

Rose slumps, lowering the gun. Victoria stands and watches her, agony on her face. Rose stumbles away and doesn’t seem to notice the figure on the ground anymore, and she raises her eyes to Victoria.

 

And then, Rose crosses the space between them and wraps her arms tightly around Victoria. Rose clings to her and Victoria strokes her hair, presses her cheek to the top of Rose’s head, holds her tight. And when they part, it’s slow and uncertain, Rose’s eyes bright for the first time in days and Victoria smiling softly at her. They’re still less than inches apart, gazes locked, close enough to–

 

And there’s a long, protracted moment. 

 

There’s murmuring from the crew, uncomfortable and a little curious. “This isn’t in the script,” someone whispers loudly. Emma ignores them.

 

They film that bit the same way every time, undeniably romantic, and the murmurs grow louder and louder. They don’t do a single take without the hug. There are no other options this time. The director is pleased with the shot and Emma crawls into a van back to set at the end of the day, exhausted but equally pleased.

 

But Cora doesn’t respond at all. There are no more meetings when the dailies are delivered to her, no more strongly worded letters, no demands for damage control. 

 

Emma is gleeful. Regina is terrified. “I know her,” she mutters. “She wouldn’t let this lie. Not this kind of insolence. Not when it’s me.” 

 

“She’s a businesswoman,” Emma reminds her. A few set photos are circulating. Most of the scene had been blocked properly and any fans had been far from filming, but there’s a blurry one that people are speculating is a hug. Fandom is thrilled and furious and thrilled.

 

“She’d rather lose everything to teach me a lesson,” Regina says grimly. “My mother is unstoppable when her pride is on the line.” 

 

But there’s nothing but silence. Even Gold seems unbothered, smiling at them in the hall as though nothing has changed. 

 

They’ve gotten their next script a few days into _Mother_ filming, and they’ve agreed to convene at Regina’s to discuss whatever’s inside it. Regina had run to take care of something before they read through, and Emma’s eating Henry’s after-school snack on the couch when she hears an explosive, “That fucking  _bitch._ ” 

 

“Regina?” she says, peering into the study. 

 

Regina’s face is thunderous. “Check Twitter.” 

 

Emma spits out a curse of her own. The announcement comes with a handy image to glare at, New Guy’s smug face smirking out at her from the screen as the byline mentions his temporary return for the finale. “Fucking–“ 

 

Emma tears open the script for _Operation Mongoose Part One_ , gaping at the story as it unfolds. They’re in some kind of alternate universe where Victoria has to kiss– _her true love, Robin Hood–_ to break a curse. Of course. _Of course._ The premise is overwhelmingly Victory Outlaw, loaded on and out of proportion.

 

“Mother had this in the works all along,” Regina says, pacing furiously, and right on cue, there’s a rap at the front door.

 

Neither of them are surprised to see Cora stride in. “You must have seen the news by now, dears,” she says, offering them a thin-lipped smile. “Gold has his little plots, of course; but in the end, do recall that you all answer to me. And I won’t take kindly to such…indelicate…attempts to rewrite our narrative.” 

 

“Your narrative,” Emma says, teeth gritted, “Is bullshit.” 

 

“Miss Swan,” Cora says reprovingly, but her eyes are glittering and fixed on Regina. 

 

Regina meets her gaze, nodding slightly. “Yes, Mother,” she says, and Emma stares at her in stunned betrayal. But then she continues with, her lips tilted into a near-smile, “Your narrative _is_ bullshit,” and Cora rears back.

 

Emma thinks that this is it, that they’re both going to be fired– and she’s angry enough that her first reaction is a defiant _I don’t care_ before rational thinking sets in– that they’re going to lose Rose and Victoria and everything important about the show. But Cora smiles at the last moment, a glint of something like respect in her eyes for the two of them, and she says, very slowly, “I’d better go. Please send my regards to Henry. Will Jamaal be joining you tonight?” 

 

It’s an innocent question, but there’s a note of victory to it that has Emma eyeing Cora suspiciously. She can’t know about–

 

_No_. She doesn’t, but there is a threat in there, a reminder that there are innocents weaker than either of them whom Cora can target. Regina is tense, white-knuckled and furious, and Cora smiles and steps out the door. 

 

It’s harrowing on set the next week, it’s stressful, and New Guy is still way too familiar with Regina. And Emma doesn’t film much that week, but she still comes to set and glares at him each time he gets too close to Regina. 

 

Regina seems defeated again, lost and frustrated like she hasn’t been since her victory in 4a, and when she steps off set to stand beside Emma, Emma slips a hand into hers. 

 

Regina squeezes back and stands a little straighter.

 

They get the second half of the script that next Sunday. In the alternate universe, Victoria sacrifices herself for Jamie instead. And in their regular universe, Rose sacrifices herself for Victoria. 

 

Emma’s caught between being actually thrilled– Cora and Leopold have determined her worthy of the Dark One story after all– for her character and Victory Rose, and suspicious of all of Cora’s motives. She makes a few half-assed threats and Cora sneers, “You’re still telling Hook you love him.” 

 

So baby steps, then.

 

* * *

 

**in which happily ever after is sometimes just two words.**

 

They cut the scene after Rose puts down the gun, tear out the whole moment that follows and end the scene there. Emma clenches her fists and hates it, hates the heartbroken responses from Victory Rose fans after the Victory Outlaw-themed finale and how they don’t seem to know how to take any of it. 

 

_This show is a het-fest now and they’ll never let us take a step forward without yanking us back,_ one Tumblr post insists. Another retorts, _They might have set it up like that, but we still got that sacrifice! What else would that sacrifice have meant?_ They move from bewildered to furious to hopeful, still caught on the sacrifice and on Robin Hood and on the Rose Captain declaration, and Emma doesn’t know what to tell them.

 

“You don’t have to tell them anything,” Regina says, pointing at the post below the one Emma’s been reading. “Look.” 

 

Emma looks. Emma blinks, because that post is a series of excerpts from assorted media sites. 

 

_…This season has proven to be a turning point in the Victory Rose relationship, which flirts on the edge of friendship and romance throughout…_

 

_…Rose’s confession to Hook is overwhelmed and overshadowed by her ultimate sacrifice for Victoria and the bond between them that supersedes any other…_

 

_…Are the writers of HEA writing a relationship between Rose and Victoria? Time will tell, but we’re all set to board the good ship Victory Rose if they do…_

 

“Don’t you see?” Regina breathes, finger hovering over the first source and then the next source and then the next. “We– the two of us, the Victory Rose fandom– we still did something here, no matter how much they cut of it.” 

 

“A little publicity?” Emma says dubiously, but Regina is glowing with renewed confidence.

 

“ _Mainstream_ publicity,” she corrects her, and they both stare at the post, contemplative.

 

"Cora can write her narratives," Emma whispers, something stirring within her like a glimmer of hope. "And she can try to stop us from rewriting them, but she doesn't have a damn bit of control over _them_."

 

And she isn't sure which she's speaking about, if she means both or either: the media beginning to deliver this story to the mainstream, or the legions of fans who've rewritten it in the first place, creating a new love story with all the tools they’ve been given by a resistant writer. 

 

Cora’s narrative only spreads so far. 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm perpetually one chapter behind in comment replies, sigh. Thank you very much for your patience with me there! <3 
> 
> Warning this chapter for one of our ladies kissing another lady, very briefly.

**in which emma housesits for regina.**

 

Con season is supposed to be fun this year. There’s no New Guy, no PR relationship, and Regina and Emma are actually doing a con together-together even if Gold has informed them that he doesn’t trust them to be on a panel together.

 

But Emma had underestimated the mood from the finale. She’d been so caught up in their personal war with Cora that she’d just…assumed the fans had moved on from their confusion and dissatisfaction. But instead, they have so many questions, usually polite, still guarded. 

 

The Victory Rose fans are out in full force this year, unafraid and loud and by far the majority of their fans again for the first time since Season One. Regina does some cons before their con together and talks about Victoria’s affection for Rose, the coming relationship, and the strength of what’s come before. Twitter keeps calling it _queerbaiting_ , and Emma dismisses it until she looks up the word and discovers that yes, they’re very guilty of it.

 

She winces and nearly calls Regina, but what can they do? It’s already done. “It’s stupid,” Henry says when she mentions it at dinner. “Mom is giving them everything she can.” She’s staying at Regina’s while Regina is away at cons, and Jamaal is over for a sleepover.

 

“They really thought it was going to be real,” Jamaal says wistfully. Emma looks at him askance. 

 

Henry says, “I’m going to go set up a movie,” and bounds off, dropping his plate in the sink.

 

Emma says, “Jamaal–“ 

 

“Don’t worry.” Jamaal puts up a hand. “I’m not…Henry and I haven’t done that again. Regina says that if I…” He shrugs, staring down at his macaroni. “If I feel that way, I’ll have to be careful. Mom said that I can be with whoever I want, but I know she agrees with Regina. If I ever want to be a successful actor, I can’t be a _gay_ one. I can’t…” He winces. “I can’t cover my skin and pretend that it’s white. I’m never going to be a lead actor or a movie star but…if I keep this secret, I can still maybe have _something_ after Happily Ever After.”

 

Emma swallows. “Do you think you’re–“ 

 

“Pretty sure,” he says, blinking back tears as he smiles at her. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem. You’re just…Victory Rose is important, okay?” He flushes deep brown and clears his plate in silence.

 

Emma says, “Listen, it’s…” Jamaal turns, expectant, and she deflates. For all her frustration at Regina’s handling of the situation, what else is there to say? She can’t encourage Jamaal to come out or be true to himself in this situation. He’s a fifteen-year-old boy in the public eye and she has no right to be so irresponsible with– “I know,” she says finally. “I know it is.” 

 

She wasn’t made for this kind of secrecy, lurking in corners instead of confronting a problem head-on. She certainly can’t do it without Regina present. 

 

And Regina is…something else.

 

She’s gotten so used to being inseparable that she’s missing Regina more and more during their time apart. Which is silly. They’re not _together_. They’re never going to be together. Regina has made that clear.

 

Someday, Regina’s actually going to meet some asshole who isn’t quite as bad as New Guy, and Emma’s going to have to move out of the house where she spends most of her time and figure out how to get over her. Someday, Happily Ever After will end and Emma will only see updates on Regina’s life by flipping through magazines on supermarket checkout aisles, by plastic, airbrushed smiles and sleek little catchphrases about _having it all_. Someday, all of this is going to end and Emma will be alone again.

 

She grits her teeth. She calls Regina. 

 

Regina picks up on the first ring. “It’s been three days,” she says laughingly. “I’ve only been hearing from you via Henry.” Already, Emma’s heart is doing that uncomfortable full _thing_ that it does around Regina, and Emma twitches with annoyance and relief. 

 

“I thought I’d let you spend some time with other people,” she says, her voice light. Regina’s been out for drinks with their trio of guest stars from last season– there are pictures everywhere on Twitter– and Emma’s done lunch with Mary Margaret and David, who are very dear to her but… Well. Not Regina.

 

Regina laughs, restrained but affectionate. “Emma Swan, Season Five and you still don’t know how I feel about _other people_?” Emma glows a little. 

 

Henry tears into the room, heading for the junk food cabinet (which is a shelf in the health food cabinet, because Regina is nothing if not pointed), squints at her face suspiciously, and says, “You’re talking to Mom, aren’t you?” 

 

“Get out, kid.” He tosses a chocolate bar at the general vicinity of her face and she snags it, unwrapping it and forgoing her dinner in favor of chocolate.

 

Regina says, very sternly, “Emma, are you letting Henry eat junk food after dinner?” 

 

“Just popcorn?” she says meekly, and Regina makes a huffy sound into the phone that has them both laughing.

 

And maybe someday, this is all going to have to end, but not today.

 

Not yet.

 

* * *

 

**in which emma bails regina out.**

 

When Regina does come back, it’s with a hug for Henry and another one for Emma, and Emma holds onto her and tries not to obsess. It had been easier when they’d been focusing on Victory Rose, caught up in show politics and the fans and Cora’s machinations. Now, they’re back together until the next con, as inseparable as ever.

 

Marian has Emma scheduled to make appearances at various charity and media events, and Regina coordinates with her for a few so they can bump into each other at the worst of the events. _Happily Ever After stars have a brief summer reunion at a charity gala supporting literacy in disadvantaged neighborhoods,_ reads the caption of one picture. It features the two of them beaming at each other, Regina’s hands clasped over Emma’s, the trim of Regina’s dress matching the gold of Emma’s. 

 

Not that that was _intentional_. As far as anyone knows, anyway.

 

She’s called onto set a few times this summer, speaking with Cora about Dark Rose. “I’ve had people speak to me about you. Other producers. _Film_ producers, even,” she says, and Emma blinks, startled. “You’re new talent and you’ve successfully held a show through syndication. That bodes well for your future as an actress.” 

 

“I’ve done some research,” Emma says, digging into her bag of books. “I’ve been looking into the nuances of roses in fairytales, the meaning of them from Victorian flower language–“ She’s been poring over books and the Internet all summer, practicing modulating Rose’s voice into something more restrained and threatening, watching and mimicking Victoria’s strut and Rumplestiltskin’s slither, and she’s ready to take on the role. 

 

Cora waves her hand. “Yes, yes. I’m sure you’ll bring that to the role impressively. We expect some viewer attrition, considering the issues with using Rose like this, but we’ve been working with that in our plotting.” 

 

It feels a bit like failing an exam before she’d even started. “You still don’t think I’m sympathetic.” It still rankles in a very specific way, leaving her helpless and frustrated and just a tad resentful. 

 

Cora pinches Emma's chin and lowers it so she’s staring directly into her eyes. “You’re going to prove everyone wrong. This– everything we do this season, beyond just Dark Rose– is going to raise your credibility as an accomplished and talented actor. And I need to know that you’re fully committed to the role.” 

 

Emma squints dubiously at her. “Are you hitting on me?” 

 

“My dear girl.” Cora sighs. “Save it for the people who matter.” Which is a frightening enough prospect as it is, but Emma swallows and laughs like Cora’s kidding around. 

 

Still, though, a part of her leaps at this opportunity to prove herself, to be in _movies_ and make a name for herself that won’t have her flipping burgers again a year after Happily Ever After airs. She can’t survive on genre cons, forgotten while Regina and Killian flourish. She isn’t even good at those.

 

The upcoming con has all three of them on the ticket, actually, though Emma’s panels are on her own and with Killian. Her audience for the latter is jam-packed with Rose Captain fans, but if she squints at some of the front rows, she can see a few Victory Rose sweaters. She answers questions and Killian flirts outrageously with the fans and it’s going…pretty well. 

 

She does a photo op set with Killian that consists of a lot of pictures of her looking annoyed while he kisses fans’ cheeks. She does a second with Regina where they’re required to be stricter about poses, much to the dismay of the fans. “Um,” one of them says after her picture, cheeks flushed and eyes mischievous. “I actually bought two pictures. Here.” She thrusts the second ticket in Emma’s hand, and Emma stares at it for a moment before she gets it.

 

“Which pose?” she asks, waving around her newly gifted ticket. She’s emboldened by the support they have here, by the enthusiasm their fans seem to have for their every interaction. 

 

The fan looks startled and delighted that she’s playing along. Regina is watching, eyebrow cocked, bemused. “Oh! How about…can you kiss her on the cheek? Or _hug_ ,” she sighs with the frustration of someone who’d seen that blurry set photo. 

 

Regina says, “I don’t know if we should–“ but Emma’s already moving to her, an arm around her waist as she presses a kiss to Regina’s suddenly pink cheek. The camera flashes as the girl preens. Regina doesn’t stand a chance.

 

Emma laughs at her grimace and heads out to find Henry, who’s joined them this year and is her panel partner. “She doesn’t need a babysitter,” he’d haughtily informed her handler from last year, who’d looked very relieved at the assertion. Emma smirks smugly. “I’m more like a big brother.” 

 

“Hey!” But now she has security trailing after her and Henry walking beside her as they take their seats in the front row of Regina’s panel. It’s jam-packed with Victory Rose shippers, and Emma is sandwiched between Henry and security so she won’t be approached. She amuses herself by opening Twitter and showing Henry a dozen photos of the backs of their heads, captioned _@EmmaSwan14 and Henry Mills watching @ReginaMills’s panel!!_. “Like clockwork.” 

 

Henry turns around, scowling at the girls. “Stalkers!” One of them lets out a very shrill giggle and his voice softens. “I mean. Uh. Do you want us to pose, or…?” 

 

“Henry!” Emma says, outraged. “Stop flirting with the fans!” 

 

“I’m a lesbian,” the girl says. Her voice lowers. “But if we went out, your mom would, like, want to meet me first, right?” 

 

“You’re _never_ dating a fan,” Emma orders Henry, and he turns back around to sulk against his chair. She turns to eyeball the fan, who is very attractive and at least five years older than Henry. “Regina would eat you alive,” she informs her. 

 

The girl eyes her speculatively. “You think so?” she says hopefully, and Emma twists back around in a sharp motion as Henry snickers.

 

It takes about five minutes for a Vine of _that_ moment to circulate on Twitter ( _Mama Bear @EmmaSwan14 with Henry!!! #SwanQueen)_ but by then, the panel is finally beginning. Regina waves at the audience and sits, arching an eyebrow at Emma and Henry as they cheer wildly. 

 

The early questions are easy to answer– “What did you think of this scene? How did you play that one?” Someone asks about the blurry still of them hugging, and Regina says diplomatically that the hug was probably cut for length. (The crowd cheers.)

 

And then, near the end, a Victory Rose fan moves to the microphone and asks, “Was it…this season…was all that–“ She waves vaguely at Regina– “With Rose and Victoria scripted?” 

 

The audience is already cheering, and Regina looks trapped. Emma tenses. They can’t lead on the fans anymore, not when it won’t go anywhere, but Cora will murder them both– or worse, Jamaal– if they admit that.

 

“Some,” Regina says finally. “Some of it was scripted. A lot of it was…just two very dear friends capitalizing on our chemistry onscreen.” 

 

There’s an uncertain murmur in the crowd– some cheers and some boos, like no one knows how to take that. Regina’s fingers are clenched against her knees, white-knuckled and trembling. 

 

Emma stands up. Henry– who apparently _is_ her babysitter– hisses, “Don’t you dare.” 

 

The crowd is still rumbling, dozens of confused voices meshing together. Emma ducks over to the microphone, murmuring an apology to the next fan on the queue, and says, “You thought we were friends?” in the exact cadence that Regina had during _Breaking Glass_. 

 

Almost two years ago, Regina had said the same thing to her, and she’d been so lost that she’d never identified with Rose more when she’d seen it in the script. It hasn’t been too long since the rumors that they hate each other, that anything they’ve done together even last year had been PR, and there’s a hush in the room.

 

Regina starts for a moment. Then a wry smile settles on her face and she says, “Well, I don’t want to kill you.” 

 

(Later, fandom meta will critique this diversionary tactic as manipulation for lesser minds. The whole fandom is rocked by the revelation that they’ve been baited. Some turn on the actresses. Some point to Regina’s strained face and Emma’s hopeful one and say they had no choice.) 

 

Emma beams. The crowd goes wild, distracted for now, and when they finally quiet, Regina has the words she needs. “Victoria and Rose’s relationship is very dear to me,” she says. “It’s…one of the most important ones that Victoria has– that she’s ever had. I won’t discount that, regardless of what direction the show goes in.” She leans forward, meeting eyes around the room with her own steely gaze until she settles back on Emma, her eyes softening. “I hope we’re all clear on that.” 

 

And it’s a message that everyone will twist– as confirmation of Victory Rose, as confirmation that they’re just friends, as confirmation that the actresses have to lie to soothe the nasty Victory Rose fans. It’s vague and confusing only to people don’t just take it at face value, probably.

 

Emma takes it at face value and then at a level beyond that that has her frustrated and irritated at herself.

 

* * *

 

**in which multiple dramatic readings commence.**

 

“ _Listen @ReginaMills I don’t have much to offer you if we got married but I do have a really fabulous collection of posters of you to decorate our future home–_ I like this one! You should marry her,” Emma decides, scrolling down through Regina’s mentions. “Here! _Don’t you think Victoria should have a baby girl named Elizabeth??_ That’s…oddly specific.” 

 

“You have no idea.” Regina is leaning against the couch in her room, wine glass in one hand and her head against the back of it so she can watch Emma go through her Twitter account. “This is fairly tame for my notifications.” 

 

“Oh. This is–“ Emma flips the quality filter off and squints at the first notification that comes up. “ _I want to flip you over and put my–_ Nope. No, I am not drunk enough to read that sentence,” she says as an afterthought. She gulps down more wine. “Your mentions are way more interesting than mine. Look, it’s us!” She spots a manipulated photo of the two of them in a lip-lock, and she's just inebriated enough that it doesn’t make her want to cry. “It’s even tagged Swan Queen. That’s so…” She struggles through a haze for a word for it. “Kissing,” she says unintelligently.

 

“It isn’t actually required that you get wasted every time you go to a con,” Regina says, sipping her wine at a much slower pace than Emma.

 

Emma frowns at her. “That’s not what Killian says.”

 

Regina snatches her phone back. “Then go drink with _him_ ,” she says, scowling at Emma.

 

Emma pouts, lip outthrust and eyes very sad. “If I do that, I’ll just wind up hitting on girls all night and making _very_ questionable decisions.”

 

“Better stay with me, then.” Regina is still leaning back, shoulder and head pressed to the couch so she can face Emma. “Just the one girl to hit on here.” The wine has her flushed, her hair coming undone and a cardigan loose on her shoulders, and she’s probably the most beautiful person in the universe. Emma thinks. Definitely. 

 

Emma retrieves the phone from Regina, her eyes lighting on the #SwanQueen on the last tweet she’d seen. “Let’s see,” she says, clicking on the hashtag. “A fanfiction!” 

 

“Emma, no,” Regina sighs. It’s possible that she’s a lot less wasted than Emma.

 

“Emma, yes,” Emma says gleefully, ignoring the fact that Regina has shifted from her spot beside Emma and is now sitting a safe distance away. “Who the hell uses the word _pussy_ in 2015 like it’s sexy?” she demands, scrolling on. “Also, why are you having a secret affair with Mal? Am I not enough for you?” 

 

She lets out an exaggerated sigh and Regina pokes her, seizing the phone from her as she concedes the game. “You’re sleeping with Ruby! What is this, an–“ Her eyes go wide. “Oh, god, it _is_ an orgy. Who invited Mary Margaret to our orgy?” Regina takes over the dramatic reading, putting on her Evil Queen voice. “ _Regina lies on the floor of the trailer and the other women lounge around her, caressing her–“_ She sucks in a breath and drops the phone, reaching for her wine glass again. “Absolutely not.”

 

Emma picks up the phone and Regina says, “Emma, don’t–“ 

 

“ _Emma settles onto Regina’s mouth, her dripping pussy so drenched with need that_ –“ 

 

“Emma!” Regina says again, firmer this time. “Enough!” Emma squints at her, sees still-flushed cheeks and a face she can’t read when everything is this fuzzy.

 

“I did always think you were a power bottom,” she says, but Regina’s face only seems to darken even more. “I fucked up,” she says to herself, suddenly very sure of it. “You have really nice lips,” she says to the mirage suddenly looming over her. “I wish you’d let me kiss them again.” 

 

She reaches out for Regina’s lips and misfires, fingers curling into the top of her camisole, and Regina takes in a sharp breath and leans onto the couch, a knee resting against it. Emma’s thumb brushes below it, under the cardigan to trace one satin-covered erect nipple, half-dazedly admiring the swell of Regina’s breasts.

 

“You’re drunk, Emma,” Regina’s voice murmurs from the general vicinity of the mirage, sounding strained and husky and wanting. She pulls away gently, and Emma’s suddenly grasping at air. Emma's being moved now, legs turned and draped over the couch as a pillow appears beneath her head, and Regina presses a soft kiss to her temple and lays a blanket over her as she passes out.

 

* * *

 

**in which all good things must come to an end.**

 

When Emma wakes up in the morning, it’s to an empty room, and Emma thinks she might have ruined everything. She does her panel mechanically, answers questions and performs as best as she can while hung over before she’s moved to autographs and her final photo ops of the con. It’s the group photo, and Regina and Emma are standing with only Ruby between them but Regina hasn’t spoken to her once. 

 

She’s relieved when she winds up next to Regina during the closing ceremony. Regina smiles at her, and it’s tight at first but loosens.

 

There are shouts of “Victory Rose!” and whooping noises from the audience, and Emma claps along to them. Killian makes an exaggerated sound of irritation and Regina folds her arms, glaring at him theatrically. The fans love it.

 

They escape the con together, Regina actually perched on the back of their car with her legs crossed and her fan-friendly smile on her face as the car pulls away, and Emma has to climb through the sunroof to tug her inside. They sit in the back on the way to the airport while Henry sits in the passenger seat, passed out as the high-energy atmosphere finally fades. 

 

“I’m sorry about last night,” Emma says finally.

 

Regina shakes her head. “We were drunk and having fun.” But she still looks uncomfortable, and Emma wonders if she did ruin it after all. 

 

“Still,” she says, all in. “You know I’ve been…I’m kind of in love with you, right?” 

 

Regina stares at her for a moment, and Emma regrets for the first time that they’re actresses. That they’re so good at hiding their faces from the world when they need to.

 

“Right,” Regina says, her voice so stiff and brittle that it’s close to breaking. 

 

“It isn’t fair to you,” Emma mumbles. It’s all she’s been thinking about all summer. About Regina moving on. About it breaking Emma’s heart. About losing a friend because she’s so in love with her that she doesn’t know how to be a friend anymore. “I don’t want to become your _Hook_ ,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to force you to have _that_ between us. Not when it isn’t Victory Rose. Not when it’s real.” 

 

Regina nods, her discomfort even stronger now. “Emma, it’s not…if you want to–“ 

 

“I don’t,” Emma cuts her off, unwilling to rely on her kindness any longer. “I don’t want to do this anymore. It isn’t good for you. It isn’t even good for me,” she admits, because she’s been a _disaster_ for _years_ , and Regina’s eyes grow a little more opaque.

 

“I see,” she says, her voice hoarse and regretful. Emma wants to shake her, to let her know that it’s _fine_ , Regina’s done nothing wrong and it’s all on Emma, and all those regrets belong to Emma alone. That all of this never should have… 

 

The words spill out of Emma’s mouth in a hurry, before she can take it all back. “So can we just…pretend that the Season Three party never happened? Can we kick out the elephant in the room instead of inviting it in and offering it coffee?”  _Oh god, word vomit._

 

“Elephants with coffee,” Regina says skeptically. 

 

And _okay_ , if this is how they’re moving on. Regina’s eyes are still glinting with a discomfort that Emma can’t place, but she doesn’t bring it up again. Emma clears her throat. “Did you know that they make coffee out of elephant dung?” 

 

“Ew,” Henry groans from the front seat, stirring at last. “I have learned way too much this weekend about what you two talk about when I’m not there. I always assumed it was, like, acting stuff.” 

 

“Go back to sleep, kid,” Emma orders him, and he yawns loudly instead, stretching rapidly growing limbs in the space of the car.

 

Emma is afraid to talk any more for the duration of the ride to the airport. She stares out the window and watches the passing scenery and doesn’t say a word. 

 

And every time she glances back into the car, she catches Regina’s gaze on her, contemplative and hard and maybe a tinge fearful.

 

_It’s okay_ , she thinks, and means it. It’s been two years. It’s time to stop pining and appreciate what she does have with Regina. And that is much too precious to waste on something she can’t have. 

 

It’s…one of the most important ones that she has– that she has ever had. And she won’t discount that. 

 

* * *

 

**in which at least _one_ of them kisses a girl.**

 

Emma makes an effort. 

 

She tries dating more than she has in years, serious dating with Marian-approved women who are perfectly suited for her instead the rare one-night stands she’s been favoring since Regina Mills had marched into her life. She does a con on her own and doesn’t call Regina once during it, just sends casual texts and a few pictures of some of the Victory Rose-related gifts she’s gotten.

 

She even takes a few photos with the other con-goers from the cast, and she gets a tweet in response to her posted photo. _@EmmaSwan14 Hope you’re having fun with ‘other people!’,_ Regina had written, accompanied by a winking emoji, and there’s a photo of her own attached. It’s Regina with a boy wearing a Darth Vader mask– Henry, whose face she doesn’t tweet– Regina’s arms wrapped around him and her chin tucked over his head. 

 

Emma saves the photo and deletes it a moment later, chastising herself for going soft yet again.

 

The dating doesn’t really pan out, but she feels like she’s starting to move _somewhere_ when the con in Brazil happens. 

 

And they’ve invited fucking New Guy, too. 

 

Emma stays away from Twitter, too aware that she’ll probably say something she’ll regret if she sees any pictures, and she keeps her texts short and to the point.

 

She’s being careful. She’s behaving.

 

And then Regina kisses Mal onstage.

 

Henry’s the one to show it to her. “Hey, look at this. I always thought that Mom’s first girl kiss would be you,” he says, sliding his phone over to her.

 

“ _What_?’ Emma stares, her throat very tight at the Vine that keeps playing. Regina leaning in, nothing more than a peck, and then a hug. It’s casual, like they’ve done it before. The crowd is cheering wildly in the background.

 

She watches it on repeat probably a dozen times, frozen in place and her hand rebelling when she tries to shut it off. She can’t stop staring. She doesn’t know what it means that she can’t stop staring.

 

Henry gives her a shrewd look and says, “Or maybe I was right.” 

 

“Henry. Not your business.” Which, okay, yes, Regina _had_ kissed her long before this, but she’s going to protect her privacy. And… _first girl kiss_? She’s given up on speculating on Regina’s sexuality years ago, but she wonders–

 

Henry is not impressed. “If you wanted to keep it private, maybe you shouldn’t have told my mom you were in love with her while I was half asleep in the front row.” 

 

Emma licks her lips. “So you were awake for that, huh.” 

 

“Kind of, yeah.” Henry gives her a long look. “I can’t believe I used to think you were cool. What a dumb–“ He shakes his head. “You’re such a _dork_.” 

 

“ _You’re_ such a dork,” Emma retorts, offended. 

 

Henry pitches his voice high. “‘I’m in love with you and I just can’t stand it!’ Loser. You’re lucky my mom likes losers. Apparently.” He screws up his face and she musses his hair until he groans and ducks away, snatching his phone back. “Have you just been staring at Mom kissing Mal this whole time?” 

 

“Fuck off, kid.” 

 

Regina comes back from hamming it up for Brazil and mentions only the that whole experience had been overwhelming and that they’d really loved Victory Rose. “Not Victory Dragon?” Emma had nearly said snidely, but Regina is stressed and exhausted from the trip and Emma puts her pettiness aside.

 

SDCC is more toned down, at least. They’d run through official readings of Victory Rose and the relationship– which is a first for the show, actually, but Emma takes it as the reproof it probably is. Emma has plenty to talk about with the upcoming Dark Rose plot, and they’d both been playful for the cameras and muted around each other. 

 

It’s not that it’s awkward, exactly. They haven’t changed, but now it feels more and more like their words are weighted, that there are emotions unspoken behind every interaction. 

 

She’s a little giddy when Regina is smiley and laughing, tucked in beside her during interviews and quick to mock both the interviewers and Emma herself. It’s a little easier to convince herself they’re just friends when it’s all performances for the camera, and nothing about these interactions have to be real.

 

Accordingly to her Twitter mentions, she’s _sooo obviously in love with Regina_ , and she winces at that nearly as much as she does the dozens of insistences that she and Killian are dating. 

 

She winces extra when she sees that Regina is tagged in those _#SwanQueen_ tweets, too.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We officially diverge from canon here, mostly because we don't know anything about it and I wrote all of this this summer, anyway. 
> 
> There's an attempted M/F kiss this chapter that is, as the title says, soundly rejected. Cheers!

**in which the stakes rise immeasurably high.**

 

“Yes, yes, we’ll be including an LGBT relationship this year,” Cora says into the phone, and that’s the first sign Emma has of an unwelcome changing of the tide. She pauses at the door to the trailer, her eyes wide, and Cora finishes her conversation and says impatiently, “Don’t stand there gawking. You look like an imbecile.” 

 

“I…sorry, did you say…?” Emma blinks at Cora for a moment. She’d had a question about the first episode, which they’re filming right now, but she’s momentarily staggered. “You’re including a…” 

 

Cora waves her hand, dismissive. “ Of course. The tides are changing. Diversity is a selling point, not a battle anymore. And we have that large gay community already watching our show.” 

 

“For Victory Rose,” Emma says, her throat dry, and she doesn’t know what they’re talking about here but she knows better than to ever believe– “They’re here for Victory Rose.” 

 

“And they’ll be happy to see themselves represented onscreen in any way we can do that,” Cora says, smiling up at her with sharp eyes. “Your part in this right now is to keep doing what you’ve been doing. Play up Victory Rose. Know your limitations. And for the love of god, focus on Dark Rose, not _ships_.” Cora closes the door, firm and leaving Emma on the outside.

 

“I am!” Emma feels like a petulant child, standing in front of a shut door and ready to kick it with frustration. She’s been stressed out from the start of this season, and this new wrench thrown into the works is making it only worse. 

 

She has to ace this. She’s been deep in research and planning for weeks, dredging up every negative thought that she’s ever had about Rose and her loved ones and letting them all simmer. Dark Rose has to be about resentments, about all that anger Rose keeps bottled up coming free, and she wallows in it until her headspace is dark and unsettled. 

 

They’re too similar in too many ways, and all those resentments and insecurities simmer in her own mind. And, maybe related to that fact, it’s been easier to casually text Regina or babysit than it is to see her daily, both of them keeping to their own trailers by silent agreement instead of their usual sharing. Distance is key right now. Distance is the only way to avoid feelings being dredged up. 

 

Emma goes home at night in no mood to spend time with anyone, and she lets dark thoughts carry her to sleep.

 

The fans get the news about the LGBT relationship a few weeks later, and Emma’s left with the same sick feeling as she’d had last season. _Regina said that it wasn’t scripted_ , one insists, and Emma breathes in and then breathes out again when she sees the next sentence. _But what if it was still enough? What if they’re finally giving us Victory Rose?_

 

Others are less optimistic. _They’re reeling us in and they’re going to slap us with another Mulan_ , someone warns the others, recalling Mulan’s almost-onscreen love for Sleeping Beauty. Fandom is sick with uncertainty– uncertainty that only gets worse when Mulan is confirmed to return this coming season– and everyone seems on tenterhooks, waiting and wondering and tense.

 

_Mulan will be Victory Rose's death sentence,_ someone says, and Emma knows Cora well enough to believe that it will be a protracted death sentence, a dozen consolation prizes within it to keep the fans still hoping. Cora uses hope like a dangling carrot before a horse, a constant light in the distance that she’ll never let them reach.

 

Emma channels her stress and frustration into Dark Rose some more, and now Regina is stopping her in the hall every day to comment on the bags under her eyes or the way she looks paler than usual even without makeup.

 

“I’m fine,” she insists, and she’s lucky that she isn’t filming much with Regina because she knows that Regina won’t be pleased at all with her _method acting_ , with all this rage and hate from within Rose that saps away Emma’s energy. 

 

She’s just doing her job. She loves this opportunity. She’s been set up to fail at Dark Rose and she _won’t_ , no matter the cost.

 

Rose and Victoria are meant to have rich arcs winding through the season, drawing them even closer with shared experiences, and Emma reads the script and wishes, and wishes…

 

But she isn’t a fan. She isn’t a shipper. And it’s time to settle for all the friendships in her life, real or fictional.

 

* * *

 

**in which an attempted kiss is very soundly rejected.**

 

In the days that follow, Emma’s apartment is back to the mood of an oversized prison, back to walls closing in on her as she dwells on rejection and loneliness and years spent so immersed in her own pain that she’d shut out the world in the process. She reads the scripts, rehearses over and over again, draws out her own scars to find a balance with Rose’s. 

 

The trouble with _that_ is that Emma _isn’t_ likable, has never been someone with the charisma to draw in friends or fans or anyone who wants her, really. And she’s beginning to wonder if it’s Rose who isn’t sympathetic or if it’s just Emma herself, failing slowly at the one thing she’s finally thought she might be good at.

 

She skips meals and tosses and turns at night and avoids any contact that isn’t completely necessary, and Regina tosses her worried glances but doesn’t approach her. Emma’s long ago perfected an aura of _do-not-approach_ , and even Regina respects it at first. 

 

At first.

 

Their early scenes together have Rose lashing out, speaking with such loathing to Victoria that Emma feels like she’s sinking when they shout “Cut!” 

 

Regina hurries to her, dismissing the way Emma straightens and struggles to look calm, and slips an arm around her waist. Emma sags, surrendering, wrapping her own arms tightly around Regina. “How did you…” She clears her throat and thinks back to Regina’s most harrowing season. “How did you make it through Season Two?” 

 

Regina strokes her back and then immediately removes her hand, and Emma nearly whimpers at the loss. “I had Henry,” she says. “I even…well, I had you, infuriating as you were at times.” She pulls back and her eyes are warm and wistful. “Every time you wandered into my trailer with dinner, it was a little easier to remember being a person, you know?” 

 

And _oh no_ , Emma’s gulping in sobs, too much of her usual emotional restraint worn away with the past few weeks. There are set reporters around, snapping photos of them hugging and of Emma’s tears, and she tries and tries and fails to control herself.

 

(They tweet about it all night, and Emma scrolls through their excitement and speculation about both Victory Rose and Swan Queen with a dulled sort of dread.)

 

“Emma,” Regina soothes, and she’s guiding her to one of the vans, a hand on Emma’s elbow as Emma blinks away helpless tears. Emma curls up in the back seat, keeping herself as far from Regina as possible and feeling very much like a burden. 

 

Regina slides to the floor in her heels and pantsuit and kneels in front of her, a hand wavering near Emma’s shoulder and then dropping. “Emma,” she says tentatively. “Do you have someone at home who can be with you after filming?” 

 

Emma bobs her head, which is a complete lie, and Regina sighs and says, “Please, Emma. Don’t be alone.” 

 

Which winds up being why, later that evening, she emerges from her trailer and pauses when she sees Killian and Gold in a heated argument a few feet away. “You can’t tamper with my contract,” Killian is snarling. “You have no right–“ 

 

“I can pick out a dozen violations if I must,” Gold says evenly, his eyes cold. “I don’t think you want it to get to that, do you? Consult with your agent. Have her speak to me. Waylay me again on set and I’ll have you blacklisted from everywhere that matters.” 

 

Killian turns around with another growl, and Emma says, “Hey.” 

 

He brightens at the sight of her. “Swan, what a lovely vision you are after _that_ ,” he says, jerking a thumb at Gold’s retreating back.

 

“Come out for drinks with me,” Emma says suddenly, and Killian slides a hand onto her back and escorts her toward the studio exit. Killian is _safe_ , a coworker she’s gotten reasonably good at handling over the years, and they’ve gotten into a good rhythm together. Better him than breaking down in front of Regina again.

 

_Regina_ , who’s leaving at the same time as they do, and she looks oddly at Killian’s hand on Emma’s back and then at Emma. Emma smiles weakly at her. “Sorry about earlier,” she says.

 

Regina frowns. “You are welcome to come back to my house for dinner,” she says, brow creasing. 

 

“I’m heading out with Killian.” It’s tense when it shouldn’t be and Regina’s frown only seems to grow deeper, but Emma fidgets and looks down and avoids whatever comment she might make. 

 

“Call me later,” Regina orders, her eyes boring into Killian with an absolute lack of trust, and Emma flushes and ducks into the cab that arrives for them before Regina makes it to her car. 

 

They wind up at Emma’s apartment instead of a bar, and Killian produces a flask out of nowhere. “Rum?” 

 

She takes it from him. “If that’s just sugar water from set…” But it slides down her throat and burns her chest and nostrils and she coughs and swallows back some more. “Good. This is good. There’s wine…” She waves vaguely at the kitchen. “Somewhere.” 

 

Killian laughs, retrieving his flask to take a swig, and then he attempts to stick the flask in her hand and his tongue down her throat.

 

She reels backward, still plenty sober enough to react to _that_. “What the _hell_ , Killian?” 

 

He looks very confused. “Is this not you giving in to my charms?” 

 

“No!” She shoves him back. “I’m a lesbian, you idiot!” 

 

He blinks. “Well, yes, I assumed.” He gestures at himself. “It’s been three years. No one can resist me that long without an exclusive interest in the fairer sex.” He eyes her for a moment, speculative. “You’ve been very quiet about it, haven’t you?” 

 

She shrugs. “Cora and Gold know. I think. Regina knows–“ 

 

He guffaws. “Of course she does.” 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma demands, drinking down more of the rum. “Also, were you trying to get me drunk so I’d make out with you even when you _knew_ I was gay because that’s skeevy as fuck.” Somehow, the wine appears in front of her.

 

Killian scowls at her. “No, I was getting us both drunk because I needed a bloody drink after today. I thought we could have some fun.” He slumps in his seat. “I’ve been sleeping with Gold’s wife.” 

 

“Been there, done that,” Emma offers, removing herself from the couch to find the wine. Her phone is on the coffee table, and she squints at the text on the screen. _Where the hell are you?_ Oh. Regina.

 

She stabs at random emoji and winds up sending Regina a series of flags that aren’t much of a response before she returns to Killian with the wine. “You and Milah, huh?” 

 

“I’m in love with her,” he says, staring forlornly at his empty flask. “And I don’t think she enjoys my hair very much anymore.” 

 

“It is kind of messy,” Emma concedes, eyeing his suspiciously luxurious locks. 

 

Killian eyes her. “You could have been my wingman…woman…all this time,” he says, pouting. “Pick out lovely ladies and…comfort each other if we failed.” 

 

“Still gay, Killian.” 

 

He leers. “You just haven’t met the right man yet.” He holds up a hand as she raises her win bottle threateningly. “Only a jest, Swan. Though if you do choose to experiment, I’m always a phone call away.” He bobs his eyebrows and she laughs but swears privately  _never again_. 

 

Still, though, she sleeps easier that night. And in the morning, there’s a wasted actor snoring on her couch and a dozen politely intrusive texts from Regina, and more and more tweets from Victory Rose fans about the hug they’d witnessed.

 

* * *

 

**in which regina stages an intervention.**

 

After that misstep with Killian, Emma goes back to her lonely life, filming by day and putting herself through as much mental hell as she can with every day as Dark Rose. At home, she sees shadows on the wall and has dreams where someone is hurt and screaming, and she wakes up in the mornings ready to play with the darkness again. 

 

And over it all hangs the awareness of _LGBT couple_ , something make-or-break that has Emma and Regina and all their fans on edge.

 

The show is bringing Mulan in for a coming episode, and Emma sidles up to her actress on her first day in studio and says, “So, first queer Disney princess, huh?” 

 

The other woman laughs knowingly at her curiosity. “I…think so? They’re being cagey with me, too. I haven’t even been told who my love interest is going to be, so I’ve been ramping up the sexual tension with _everyone_.”

 

She turns back to her script, squinting at the words on it. “It’s not happening until it airs, I guess?” 

 

Leopold is on set now more than Gold and Cora, the latter two caught up in corporate battles while Leopold smiles graciously and tweets about how he _loves ALL fans_ and wants _everyone to be happy!_ and watches Emma with dubious eyes. It isn’t enough. Whatever Emma’s doing isn’t enough, and she struggles and struggles to impress him.

 

“There’s no need, really,” he says when she approaches him. “It’s being taken care of.” 

 

_Taken care of_ means that Rose's story has become Hook’s story, has become Victoria’s, and it means that when ratings begin to drop, the producers nod to each other and pat Emma’s shoulder comfortingly like it’s on her. She’s beginning to feel stifled by her own role, like she’s being given the blame for failing a story she hasn’t been allowed to perform, and it’s just another stressor that has her craving the end of this season. 

 

Halfway through the season, she’s due for a battle with Victoria, long and intense and bloody. It’s half stunt doubles but it’s all Rose snarling insults and manipulations, taking herself to a mental space that’s enough to bring her to blows with someone she loves. Regina is getting worn out, too, and Emma doesn’t know if her flinches are real or acted anymore. Regina’s always lived her role in full, given herself to it with all that she has; and this back-and-forth, the tired insults and scathing commentary– it’s all too much for both of them. 

 

Emma doesn’t dare stay back again to break down. Instead, she hurries home, forgoing what little dinner she might be able to find in her fridge and collapsing on the couch, fading in and out of consciousness. 

 

Had she eaten at all that day? She doesn’t remember breakfast or lunch or even energy bars. Coffee. She’d definitely had coffee, maybe. Her legs are limp and she can’t muster up the energy to get up, not after the exhausting day she’d had, and for a moment, she wonders if she’s just going to collapse here, forgotten by the world.

 

She has her phone in her pocket, and she fishes for it halfheartedly. Maybe she can text Mary Margaret. That’s–

 

There’s a rapping on the door to her apartment, growing louder and louder in barely seconds. “Emma!” Regina snaps through the door, sounding frantic. “Emma, if you don’t open this door right this instant, I will break it down.” 

 

“Mom, I have a key,” Henry supplies, and Emma nearly smiles from her place on the couch.

 

“Emma!” Regina snaps again, and this time, there’s the sound of a key in the lock and they’re both spilling into the room.

 

“Idiot!” Regina is snarling mad when she rushes to her. “You can’t– I don’t give a damn if you want to stay away from me now,” she hisses, and it sounds like she means it. “I am done being understanding about that. If you’re going to let yourself waste away in the process, I swear I’ll kill you myself.” 

 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Emma protests.

 

“Shut up,” Regina orders, turning back to Henry. “Put the soup up, sweetheart. Meatloaf in the oven.” Emma opens her mouth and Regina stabs a finger in her direction. “Not a word, Miss Swan.” 

 

“I just…” Regina gives her a sharp look and Emma deflates. “I wanted to say thank you,” she mutters. 

 

Regina’s face is tinged with so much horror and self-loathing that Emma wants to reach out for her and can’t quite remember why it is that she’s been keeping her distance. “Don’t thank me just yet,” Regina murmurs bitterly, pulling Emma up.

 

She’s marginally calmer once Emma is dragged to the table and eats obediently. “You can’t do this if it’s going to take so much out of you,” she says, her hand resting on Emma’s. “I’ll talk to Mother.” 

 

“No!” Emma says, paling, and Regina scrutinizes her face with deep suspicion. “I’ll be better,” she promises. “I’m just…” Her head feels too heavy to stay upright. “I’m just so tired.” 

 

She doesn’t remember much of the night, but she does remember being supported by Henry as Regina brings her to her bed. “You aren’t going anywhere until you get a good night’s sleep,” Regina orders. “Stay put.” 

 

Which is a weird thing to enforce, considering that she can barely move, but she doesn’t say a word in protest when Regina sits down on the bed and curls up next to her, a protective arm over Emma’s waist. “Talk to me,” she whispers. “Please. I know we’re both miserable every ‘A season,’ but I thought this might…I thought this was what you wanted.” 

 

“I’m just…” Emma says, too sleepy to censor herself. “No one thinks I can do this and everyone thinks I’m going to fail and I don’t know how to make Rose lovable when no one loves me and I…” She sucks in a breath. “I don’t want Cora and Leopold to write another LGBT story if it means they won’t write ours. And I _know_ they won’t and I’m still– sometimes I still wonder if they _might_ , Regina. Sometimes I really do believe.” 

 

Regina presses a kiss to the top of her head, her arm tensing and her voice tight and devastated as she zeroes in one the one thing Emma had squeezed into that to be left unnoticed. “No one loves you? You think…Emma, god, how can you still believe that? You have…you have legions of fans. Henry and Jamaal both adore you. You have Mary Margaret practically making plans to name her future daughter after you. Even my own mother has told me that she thinks of you as a daughter, and trust me, she only uses that particular blow on me with people she genuinely likes.”

 

_You don’t love me_ , Emma doesn’t say. She isn’t going to pressure Regina into anything, never again. She isn’t supposed to be pining anymore. And this isn’t about Regina or about all the people in the world for whom she’ll always come second.

 

“I won’t leave you again,” Regina vows, a whisper into her hair, and Emma closes her eyes and feels sleep finally come.

 

* * *

 

**in which there’s more food than there’s been in weeks.**

 

In the morning, Emma’s dreams have been a little less jagged, and the sunlight feels a little less dim through the curtains. Regina is in the kitchen making three separate kinds of pancakes for breakfast and Henry is studying for an exam, and Emma makes it through that day’s filming with more energy than she’s had in weeks.

 

Regina arrives at lunch on a day she isn’t filming, steely-eyed as she thrusts a container of lasagna at Emma’s chest. “Sit. Eat.” 

 

“I had pancakes three hours ago!” 

 

“Eat again.” 

 

Emma half-expects her to be back at dinnertime, but instead there’s a mysterious carton of homemade food sitting on the table in her trailer. And that night, Regina calls her to check in.

 

This goes on for days, Regina furiously overprotective to the point that Emma finally ventures, “Tell me that you aren’t blaming yourself for me doing my _job_.” 

 

Regina’s lips purse together and she doesn’t respond. Emma knows. Of course she is, because with Emma making a conscious effort to distance herself, she’s lost her own support system. And Regina is very determined to return it, like it or not.

 

Right now, she’s attempting to do a phone interview while she stalks around Emma’s trailer, glaring at the salad on her plate while Emma meekly picks at the greens. “Yes,” she says to the interviewer, snatching Emma’s donut off her plate. Emma gasps in outrage. “I think…whoever it’ll be, I’m sure it’ll be handled as well as any of our relationships. Cora and Leopold have a special gift for romance.”

 

_The LGBT relationship._ Emma perks up, grinning at the barely masked disdain in Regina’s voice. “Victory Rose,” she repeats the interviewer, frowning. “Yes, as you saw last week, Victoria still wants to believe in Rose. She knows that she’s been through a lot of the same darkness as Rose and Jamie brought her back from it, but–“ 

 

She scowls, clearly cut off and displeased about it. “I told you, I don’t know any details. You’ll have to wait and–“ The interviewer has cut her off again, and her jaw works tightly, irritated. “No, I can’t give you that information. This is highly unprofessional.” Another pause. “I don’t care whose nephew you are,” Regina snaps. “Talk to Leopold about the romance if you want answers.” 

 

Emma watches with interest. Regina says, “No. Absolutely not.” The donut pops in her grasp, custard and chocolate all over her hand, and she jabs the end button on her phone in frustration. “Damn Leopold,” she mutters, stalking back to the kitchen area to clean off her hand.

 

“My donut,” Emma says meekly, and Regina tosses her a dark look over her shoulder. Emma eats a piece of lettuce. “Who was that?”

 

“The nephew of some woman Leopold has been seeing,” Regina mutters. “Apparently, he’s a fan of mine and has some kind of…independent Happily Ever Blog, and Leopold offered me up as a sacrifice to impress his girlfriend. He spent two minutes talking about the story and the rest of it interrogating me on the LGBT couple.”

 

It’s all anyone’s been talking about lately. Every interview comes back to it, every interaction between women inspected with fine-toothed combs, every woman potentially a love interest for Mulan. Emma’s just as quick to scan each script suspiciously, looking for clues, and every angle and directorial order is another potential sign of _something_. 

 

She wishes…but it doesn’t matter. Nothing has changed with Victory Rose, nothing is more emotional or potentially romantic than it’s ever been. Her job this year is still making Dark Rose work, and she flounders and fights and bit by bit, the tracking for her character is rising. Dark Rose is growing on the audience, and the story is still falling flat but the character is becoming more and more popular.

 

“You’re doing a phenomenal job,” Cora assures her a few days later, glancing down at her laptop again and promptly forgetting what Emma’s there for. “Oh, hell. Not this again.” 

 

“This?” 

 

“Filming the hundredth,” Cora sighs, stabbing out a response. “They’re forcing another rewrite. We won’t be ready in time to film directly after the midseason finale at this rate.” The hundredth episode is supposed to be a huge deal, though the writers have been reticent about the content. “Never mind that, dear,” she says, smiling up at her. “I’m very proud of your work with Dark Rose.” 

 

“Thanks,” Emma says, and feels a tiny bit of pride in it. 

 

“We do have some minor issues to iron out. There’s…” Her voice trails off as she peers at her latest email, her face darkening. “What is _this_? Who allowed this interview?”

 

Emma peers over her shoulder. There’s a blog with the proud pronouncement that it contains an _Exclusive Interview With Regina Mills!_ and her heart sinks, knowing already what might be within it.

 

But it’s worse than she’d thought.  _“While Mills gave us no details about the LGBT relationship, one fact was abundantly clear: Victory Rose is not that relationship,”_ Regina reads later, her brow furrowing. “Oh, like _hell_ ,” she growls.

 

“Cora wants a retraction. She’s spitting mad.” She isn’t the only one. Victory Rose fandom has found the interview, and they’re just as furious, demanding answers and writing furious tweets. Twitter is a madhouse of uncertainty lately, and this one interview is enough to set everyone off. The Rose Captain fans are smug and enthusiastic about an LGBT relationship that they’d been wary of before now. The Victory Rose fans are all over Regina’s mentions, begging for reassurance.

 

“I can’t lie to them,” Regina says, still full of protective fire for her fans. “I can’t make them believe that it’s possible when it’s only so much false hope.”

 

“Look,” Emma says, sitting down beside her on the couch. She takes Regina’s hands and her heart aches in response, a warning that has her dropping Regina’s hands and backing away. “Whatever happens…Cora isn’t going to let go of the Victory Rose fandom. When Mulan and…whoever…get together, I’m sure there will be plenty for the fans to soften the blow.” 

 

“So, what? I lie to them? Help Mother string them along?” Regina says disbelievingly. 

 

“No,” Emma says, and thinks back to too many times she’d been disappointed and heartbroken over the years. She remembers an early foster home– one of the good ones– where she’d known all along that they’d send her back and had waited, waited, too miserable to enjoy her time there until the decision had finally been made. “But don’t let them spend the next few months dreading what’s to come. It’s not fair to them, either.” 

 

“None of this is fair,” Regina murmurs, and she looks so achingly sad in that moment that Emma nearly curls up around her, wraps arms around her waist and kisses her hair in comfort. _Nearly_. Instead, she leans back and glances down at her own phone, watching as Regina sends a tweet out.

 

_I was misquoted. Apologies for the confusion,_ is all she says, and the outpouring of questions, of condemnations, of demands and fears and pleading are all met with silence. 

 

_@ReginaMills You might claim to be our ally, but you’re aiding and abetting C &L's queerbaiting here and everyone knows it, _Emma sees when she peers into Regina’s mentions, and she writes an irritable reply back before she can control herself.

 

“Enough,” Regina says, and Emma doesn’t know if it’s in response to the fan or Emma or this whole, endless season of looming disappointment. “Enough.” 

 

* * *

 

**in which it’s enough.**

 

The later episodes are the most intense, and the half-season reaches a conclusion with Rose as someone to be stopped instead of someone to be saved. And Victoria is the one to stop her, of course, in a battle that lasts for days of filming and has them both so worn out that Regina actually orders burgers for them for probably the first time in her life.

 

“We’re almost done,” Regina says, eyeing the burger like it’s her worst enemy. There have been more issues with the script for the hundredth, and they’re scheduled to be filming it closer to the air date now, a week before they start filming the rest of the second half of the season. 

 

Emma bites into her own burger and catches Regina’s wince. “One more episode,” she agrees. “Then the hundredth.” 

 

At the end of 5a, Rose has been defeated and Victoria is left sobbing brokenly over her unconscious body. A few feet away, Hook lies dead, caught in the crossfire. (Killian has been furious at the termination of his contract, and even more furious that Milah has left both him and Gold, claiming exhaustion from all the posturing.) Emma keeps her eyes closed and lies still and hopes to death that they aren’t doing another season as high-intensity as this one.

 

Regina squeezes her hand when they finish the last scene, and Emma tries to smile and it’s so hard.

 

But Regina is with her.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**in which a pot cover takes some abuse.**

 

_INT. CASTLE - NURSERY - FAIRY TALE LAND_

  
_We’ve been here before. GREEN MIST is rising around Snow as the Queen laughs, victorious. The world is folding in on itself._

 

 _SNOW_  
_Where... where are we going?_

 

 _QUEEN_  
_Somewhere horrible. Absolutely horrible._  
_(a malevolent grin)_  
_A place where the only happy ending will be mine._

 

_And then, the doors of the wardrobe FLY OPEN, and Rose– still in full Dark Rose costume– emerges from within it._

_From the opposite end of the room, a matching present-day Victoria appears behind her royal self.  
_

 

_ROSE_  
_Where the hell am I?_  
_(No response)_  
_ (to Victoria) What are you doing here?_

 

 _VICTORIA_  
_Well, you’re nearly gone already. Who better than your one true nemesis to guide you to your grave?_

_ROSE_  
_(not buying it) Victoria._

_VICTORIA_  
_(deep sigh) We’re in your mind, Rose. This is your life flashing before your eyes._

ROSE  
_(It HITS HER in one gut punch. Dark Rose, the final battle. It’s over.)  
_ So I really am dead.

_ VICTORIA  
You don’t have to be.  _

 

Emma shuts the script, suddenly sure that she should read this one with Regina. 

 

The episode is airing in late January, a standalone meant to generate buzz for the show for the weeks before 5b airs. It’s been a quiet semi-hiatus. Cora hasn’t pushed any new roles on Emma, and Emma’s kept to herself, minimizing the amount of time she spends with her friends or dating in favor of a lot of quiet downtime. 

 

She’d barely recovered from the strenuous weeks of filming when the courier had appeared at her door with a copy of her script for the hundredth episode. “Have you gotten yours?” she asks abruptly when Regina picks up the phone.

 

Regina doesn’t have to ask what. “I haven’t looked at it yet.” She hesitates, reading something in Emma’s voice even over the phone. “Come over for dinner. Marian’s here. We can read it after.” 

 

Emma catches Jamaal’s tweet as she slips out of the car. _Just read the script for the 100th and all I can say is WOW! Can’t wait for you guys to see it!_ She quirks an eyebrow and heads to the door, blinking up at Marian’s boyfriend as he pulls it open for her. “Hey, Dwayne. You read the script already, too?” 

 

“My lips are sealed,” he promises, grinning at her. “No spoilers until you and Regina get a chance to see it.”

 

Jamaal and Henry are watching her from the couch when she comes in, and she flashes them a smile and ducks into the kitchen. Something about today seems surreal, like Emma’s feeling the sunshine from afar and the noises around her are muted, and there’s trepidation pounding in her chest. Had Killian mended fences with Gold? Is he coming back? Is there going to be a true love’s kiss that will cement that relationship forever?

 

_It’s just a script_ , she reminds herself, watching Regina sautéing at the counter. Marian is leaning against the cabinet opposite her, and Emma says, “Anything I can do to help?” 

 

“Salad,” Regina offers, flashing her a smile. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

 

“Well, you know. Had to take some time out of my busy social calendar, but I managed.”

 

Regina laughs, but Marian says slyly, “Well, it’s not _all_ empty these days, is it?” Regina stops laughing.

 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Yep. All those first dates are really making a dent in hiatus.” She watches Regina’s shoulders stiffen and then relax, dropping as she stirs tomato sauce into the _asopao_ and doesn’t turn around. “That veterinarian? What were you thinking?” 

 

“I was thinking you really, really love dogs. And didn’t you see her ass?” 

 

Emma had indeed seen her ass, though she’d spent a lot longer than that staring at her date’s face in disbelief as she’d gone on and on and on about her cat for a full two hours. “It’s almost like you’re sabotaging me, Marian,” she says, halfway playful, but Marian’s eyes flicker down like she might be right. “Marian! You’re supposed to be looking out for me!” 

 

“I am!” Marian protests. “I’ll set you up with someone better next time, I swear.”  Regina slams the cover on her pot, maybe a tad too hard. The cover rattles. Marian says, “Dwayne has a friend. An actress, actually. Gorgeous, accomplished…Latina with a son about Jamaal’s age.” They both pause and stare at her. Marian smiles beatifically. “She’s been filming a telenovela in Miami for the past few years, but she’s in Storybrooke next weekend for a visit.” 

 

Regina says, voice sharp, “If you’re taking charge of Emma’s love life to keep it discreet, maybe it’s best you kept it out of my kitchen. Or did you want me to sign an NDA, too?” She’s glaring at Marian and Marian is staring back, bold and challenging, and Emma licks her lips and doesn’t know how to read Regina’s proprietary stare when it shifts to her.

 

“I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable,” she mutters when Marian sails out of the room, unbothered by Regina’s irritation. “I really have been trying to do…less of that.”

 

“It’s not your fault that Marian can’t behave herself,” Regina says, coming up behind her. She peers at the salad Emma’s been tossing, a hand on her back and her chin bumping against Emma’s shoulder. Emma turns too quickly, startled, and their faces are suddenly centimeters apart. Regina murmurs, her breath warm against Emma’s lips, “I want you to be happy.” 

 

“I’m happy,” Emma says, her voice strained. Regina’s thumb is rubbing circles into her back, drawing out heat from her thin sweater. Her face is flushed from standing over the stove and her hair is curling up a bit at the edges and Emma has to bite down hard on her lip to remember that she isn’t supposed to be in love with Regina anymore.

 

Regina’s eyes flicker to said bitten lip– almost predatory if Emma hadn't known better than that– and Emma leans forward despite herself. The world seems to narrow in focus when the two of them are alone, filtering out everything but the sounds of their breathing and Regina’s thumb against Emma’s back and those brown eyes glinting with promise as Regina stands very still.

 

And then Marian pops in and says, “So, did you two read the script yet?” and they both jerk back into action, Regina hurrying to the stove and Emma tossing the salad with extra gusto as her cheeks flame red.

 

* * *

 

**in which our tale reaches its crescendo.**

 

Jamaal and Henry are having a sleepover and Marian offers to watch them, still apologetic for interrupting _nothing at all_ , Emma says defensively when Marian pats her shoulder, but she takes the offer and flees with Regina.

 

They settle onto Emma’s couch in her still too-small apartment that she’s never bothered to upgrade and they share one script, waiting at the end of each page for the other. They break into cold readings as they find the lines that resonate, the other picking up the thread of the back-and-forth immediately after.

 

And it’s _theirs_ , a story between them more than anything else had been yet this season. It’s Rose in a coma and Victoria as her guide, walking her through her own past. “ _You have to find something to anchor you_ ,” Victoria tells her, a hand clasped in hers. “ _You have to find something to come back for._ ”

 

Emma clears her throat and finds the place. “ _Jamie,_ ” Rose says immediately. “ _Jamie is everything. But…he already has a mother, doesn’t he?_ ” It’s so typically Rose, to be told to find reasons for herself and think only of how she’s needed by others, and Emma heaves a sigh.

 

They move through what’s really Rose’s story, years and years in foster care and on the streets and in prison, right up to Jamie’s birth. Rose and Victoria are both in the room this time, phantom figures, and Regina is crying with Emma when Rose and Victoria take turns holding a newborn they’d never really gotten to before.

 

Victoria is snarky and demanding throughout. “ _No one has time for the Ghost of Christmas Past, Rose. Come back to us.”_ Rose is in a state of wonder, detached as the Dark One but still finding herself within her memories.

 

And then Rose comes to Storybrooke and it’s like all her memories slow down. She’s fighting with Victoria. She’s learning to love Jamie. She’s finding her parents and she’s finding her role as savior and it’s all so _much._ It’s been a journey until this moment.

 

Emma gulps in a breath and leans against Regina, turning page after page after page. There’s new material, the equivalent of deleted scenes to flesh out Rose’s many relationships, but all of it with Victoria and Rose as the silent inhabitants of this universe.

 

And Rose is still struggling so hard.  _“Your anchor,_ ” Victoria reminds her. “ _What is it that has that power for you?”_

 

Rose has no answer.

 

Near the end, they’re finally caught up– Victoria has defeated Dark Rose, Rose is lying unconscious on the ground, and Victoria is sobbing over her body– and the scene instructs a fade away. 

 

“Do you want to do the whole scene cold?” Emma says. There’s a heightening anticipation between the two of them, nothing Emma can place, but her heart is beating faster and faster and she’s got a finger on the corner of the page, afraid to turn it just yet.

 

“Sure, why not?” Regina murmurs, and there’s an odd element to her voice, the same cadence as there had been that night in the car after the convention this summer. Something is– _no. No way_ , Emma reminds herself, but she’s still drawn to the words on the page.

 

“ _Have you found it yet?_ ” Regina says, echoing Victoria’s lines. “ _Are you ready?_ ”

 

“ _It’s all…”_ Rose hesitates. “ _I don’t understand what I’m supposed to find_. _Are you even real?”_ Rose demands of Victoria. “ _Is this all some kind of weird Dark One fever dream? Is this stage three to Corrupting the Savior?_ ” 

 

Victoria spreads her hands (Regina shifting to find her place in her own script as she stands up). “ _Does it matter if I’m really here or not?_ ” 

 

“ _I don’t know!_ ” Rose says, frustrated. “ _I haven’t figured out anything, okay? All these moments and I don’t know what’s supposed to anchor me or what it is I’m missing that can–“_

 

She shrugs helplessly. “ _All I know is that wherever I am, you seem to be there, too, right?_ ” Victoria is silent. Rose (Emma disbelieving as she plays the part) pushes on. “ _And you were right before. We were meant to be enemies and we were meant to hate each other but all I see is that we were always meant to be_ ** _something_** _. And that’s_ –“ 

 

(Emma turns the page and gasps aloud. Regina has dropped character, a gulping sob quaking through her body. “Keep…” She breathes in hard. “Keep going, Emma,” she whispers.) 

 

But it’s Regina’s turn. “ _It’s your choice, Rose,_ ” Victoria says quietly. “ _It’s not all destiny and fate. You choose your own reason to return, if it’s Jamie or Snow or–“_

 

_“I choose you,”_ Rose says, and surges across the space between them to kiss Victoria.

 

(Emma is crying and Regina is, too, the two of them with their crumpled scripts and their lips against each other’s for the first time in two and a half years. And it’s Rose and Victoria and it’s them, finding the weight of it overwhelming after all this time. So much fighting. So much fighting for–)

 

(Emma shakes and Regina kisses her and kisses her and kisses her in the middle of the living room, the two of them holding on so hard that they’re each the only reason the other is still standing.)

 

The script calls for the rainbow burst of magic to fill the room as Rose and Victoria kiss, dancing off the walls and hovering around them until the moment the scene ends.

 

Rose wakes up in a hospital bed, surrounded by the people who love her. Victoria’s hand is in hers, just like the dream, and she’s staring down at Rose with her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. “ _Morning, sunshine_ ,” she says, sounding a little dazed.

 

And then she seems to regain control of herself. “ _Do you have any idea how much time I’ve had to spend in close quarters with your mother?_ ” 

 

Her voice is sharp and wry, and Rose can only think to say, “ _Were you really there?_ ” 

 

“ _Where?_ ” Victoria asks, and the episode fades to black. 

 

Emma sits up from where she’d taken Rose’s position, sinking back into the couch. Regina is breathing hard as she yanks out her phone and dials Cora. “Is it real?” she demands. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” 

 

Cora laughs over the speakerphone, sounding indulgent. “Yes, dear, it’s all real. I’ve always been a strong proponent of diversity in fantasy,” she reminds them, sounding very pleased with herself.

 

“You really–“ For a moment Emma really believes it, really thinks that Cora’s changed– “Is this a ratings stunt?” she finally growls, remembering that this is _Cora_. 

 

“Well, it won't hurt the ratings,” Cora says airily. Her voice is thoughtful, not without some pointed resentment. “And we didn’t have much of a choice but to go in this direction now. The audience won’t accept any other relationship for either of you anymore.” She sighs, her aggravation there even more pointed. “It’s almost as though you’re both incapable of selling any relationship that _isn’t_ Victory Rose.” 

 

“Imagine that,” Regina says, a smile playing at her lips. “And I imagine it won't hurt your legacy or critical acclaim to introduce Disney’s first queer couple.” 

 

“I have loftier ideals than that,” Cora sneers, smug, and Emma presses a finger to Regina’s lips before she can argue any more with her mother.

 

“Still an asshole,” Emma says when she’s hung up the phone. “Still…” She doesn’t remember how to _talk_ , how to string together the words that matter. “We did it,” she says finally, wonderingly, flattening out the pages that she’d crumpled up.

 

Regina says, “Yes, we did.” 

 

The other actors and writers are quick to tweet about the new script, drumming up interest and excitement. Emma can’t write what she wants to, can’t contain it to Twitter, so she doesn’t tweet at all. Regina gives up on the 140-character limit and joins her in silence.

 

The fandom is like a living entity of its own, thousands of anxious voices emerging as one. And everyone seems to know that something huge– something wondrous, something devastating, something indescribable– is coming.

 

* * *

 

**in which some changes are made.**

 

Their first day back to filming, there are a half dozen lawyers from ABC and Disney on set, watching their every move and taking notes. They’re filming almost entirely in studio, but there are a few scenes on location carefully blocked off. Interest is growing from the fans who can’t see much more than their ever-changing costumes, and far-fetched theories are rampant.

 

They film a deleted scene from Season One, a formal dinner at the mayoral mansion that Rose has been ordered to attend, and it’s tense and ends in tears, of course. There’s a moment early on in the conversation where Rose and Victoria are actually getting along, and they’re abruptly stopped mid-scene by an irritated director. 

 

“The suits have requested that you sit farther apart,” he says, grinding his teeth. Isaac Heller is one of their regular directors, and he doesn’t take well to being told what to do. 

 

Regina, naturally, is both his favorite and his least favorite, and she scoffs loudly. “Are they afraid we might play footsie under the table?” 

 

“Don’t get cute with me right now,” Isaac says, shaking his head. “I never know with you two.” He lowers his voice. “You want this episode aired? You cater to the suits.” 

 

Cora is breezing around on set, holding court over the suits and cheek-kissing and giving Isaac sharp orders every now and then. Emma and Regina film with Mary Margaret and Jamaal and an assortment of guest stars and cameos, even Killian, whose contract hasn’t quite run out yet and who glowers at Emma like she’s the enemy now.

 

The day they’re due to film the kiss, Emma and Regina get there hours early and rehearse and rehearse until they’re absolutely sure that they can do this justice. “ _I choose you_ ,” Emma breathes, again and again. 

 

They don’t do the proper kiss, not yet. “It has to be natural, not something we’ve practiced so long that it feels mechanical,” Emma says, which is mostly just a front. Every time Regina leans in to peck her on the lips, a warm flush rises from her belly to her heart and she has to remind herself that none of this is real, this is Victory Rose’s moment and it means nothing for its actors in the long run.

 

She expects to be the one sobbing through the kiss when the scene comes, but it’s Regina who breaks down first, hurrying out of the studio and crouching on the steps to cry her heart out. Emma sits silently beside her, an arm around her waist and her head tucked into Regina’s shoulder.

 

Emma is the one crying onscreen when they finally film the perfect scene, though. And she’s kissed a lot of costars at this point as Rose Turner, done the emotion dozens of times and even felt it when she had. But it’s never felt as real as it does with Regina, like they’re Victory Rose and Swan Queen at once, and her heart aches and soars at the same time.

 

They’ve worked for this. They deserve this. Whichever _they_ they are.

 

“ _I choose you_ ,”  Rose says, moving forward, and the kiss is gentle, fierce but with the two of them standing close as the cameras bear down on them, Victoria with one hand in Rose’s and the other on her waist as Rose cups Victoria’s chin, laughing and crying at once. 

 

“Very affecting,” Isaac says, nodding with approval. “One more time, and we’ll call it a day.” 

 

Today there are more execs and lawyers on set than there have been all episode, and Emma spots one dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and nudges Regina. A few others are frowning, speaking among themselves with Leopold and Gold and Cora, and Cora breaks away from the group to join Isaac. 

 

“Change of plans,” she says, looking displeased. “Several of our network executives have requested that we swap to a forehead kiss instead.” 

 

“ _What_?” Regina and Emma say at once, and Emma can feel rage and desperation curling into her throat. “You’re cutting the kiss?” Emma demands.

 

“Of course,” Regina says, shaking her head. “Of _course_ , Mother.” 

 

“They’re concerned that it lacks…delicacy,” Cora says, exchanging a glance with Isaac. “And might be a bit too explicit for a family show.” 

 

“So we’ll do it again,” Emma says, jaw set. “We can keep our mouths closed this time.” Regina snickers, though the heat of her glare doesn’t abate.

 

Cora says, “I’m afraid we’re going to have to go with the network vision here.” She seems equally unhappy about it. Of course. Forehead kisses don’t win Emmys. 

 

Emma rolls her eyes, curbing her fury, and says, “So their vision is to keep two mothers kissing off their family show.” 

 

“Miss Swan, this is Sundays at eight,” Cora says tersely. “We have to be reasonable. You’re getting your fairytale, aren’t you? Take what you can get.” 

 

So they’re  _reasonable_ , Rose's lips pressed against Victoria’s forehead for much longer than should be platonic. “We’ll still have the arc,” Cora promises. “Victory Rose will still be very present on the show.” But even she sounds uncertain about that now, and Emma’s heart sinks. 

 

* * *

 

**in which the media blitz begins.**

 

The episode is due to air at the end of the month, and Mary Margaret is already talking about hosting a viewing party. “You just had a baby,” Emma points out, gesturing to the carriage beside her. Mary Margaret had given birth a few weeks before the mid-season finale had aired, and she’s already thrown herself back into the show. 

 

“Emma, this is your moment,” Mary Margaret says, eyes shining, and sometimes she’s a really great friend. “I want to be there for it all.” She pauses, thoughtful. “If I invited the whole main cast, do you think Killian should be there, too?” 

 

And sometimes she’s Mary Margaret. “Let’s…let Killian do his own thing, okay? He’s been giving me some looks on set like he might try to disembowel me with his prop hook.” Killian remains furious with Gold, and more than resentful of Emma since he’d seen the script for the hundredth. 

 

He’s been kept under control for now, releasing only a few comments when he’s done the media rounds. Most of the onus falls on Regina, Emma, and Cora, and Emma’s never had more fun doing the preliminary interviews to be posted after the episode.

 

They do one with TV.com’s star reviewer, who’s made waves on the web for both her candid mockery of the show and her love of Victory Rose, and she’s nearly too stunned to ask her questions. “I just…I can’t believe Disney’s…” she sputters.

 

“I know,” Emma reassures her. “We _know_.” They do a few other outlets they’ve never done before, more legitimate news sites than the regular media reports, and Cora breezes past them whenever she’s present.

 

“Oh, of course we’ve been planning this all along,” she says on the phone to the _Washington Post_ TV writer, drawling out examples of their grand plan like she’s read that _Sacred Book of VRose_ blog on Tumblr. “My interest has always been in diversity, and what better story could we tell than a hundred-episode fairytale about a biracial lesbian couple?” Regina’s eyes narrow and Cora gives her a very pleasant, very dangerous smile. “When Disney does this story, Disney does it right.” 

 

Emma, meanwhile, is left consoling one reporter who sits at Gold’s desk during the interview and breaks into ugly tears. “You and Hook had a forever love!” she sobs, and Gold hands Emma a tissue box with distaste. Emma gingerly offers the reporter a tissue. “How could you ever…how could you move on like this?” she demands. “So soon! How does it make sense? He was so sexy!” 

 

“Well, Rose has always been a little more interested in Victoria’s happiness than Hook’s,” Emma says weakly, and the reporter cries harder. Emma leaves the tissue box and flees the bungalow. 

 

It’s a lot of the same questions, over and over again. “How did you react? What’s it like being the first LGBT Disney princess? Were you expecting this all along?” They follow Gold’s script where they’re instructed to, but some answers are all their own.

 

“I cried,” Regina says, laughing ruefully. “The writers tell us very little in advance. We’d been instructed to…interact with each other differently, but we hadn’t known what it meant until we opened the script for the episode.” 

 

“We both cried,” Emma concedes, and Regina puts a hand in hers and bumps her shoulder. “It…um…I’m really glad for the community, that they’ve…” She falls silent, a lump in her throat.

 

Regina takes over again. “They’ve been with us a long time, even without knowing that the story was going to be Victory Rose all along. They’ve been running on hope for years and it’s…” She clears her throat, her own eyes damp. “It’s been an honor to be able to give them this promise of a happy ending.” 

 

She talks about the LGBT community and she talks about what two protagonists falling slowly in love on a show like _Happily Ever After_ means for them. She makes it through the whole spiel with a half dozen reporters on the other end of the phone and Emma crying silently beside her, head bowed and Regina’s hand tight in hers.

 

“The kiss doesn’t matter,” Regina says fiercely after the interview. “It was never going to be perfect. They were never going to give us everything. But this– it isn’t something they can back out of.” 

 

“Isn’t it?” Emma says, voice and heart raw. “How many reviews are going to be about the power of friendship? How many people are going to insist that we weren’t in love?”

 

“This isn’t the end,” Regina says, but the resignation in her voice has Emma even more determined.

 

Emma calls Cora and gets a very annoyed reminder to be grateful for what they have. “I just…the lady network exec who was there watching us when we filmed,” she says. “She was tearing up.”

 

“Was she?” Cora says, an odd note in her voice. She clears her throat, the terseness back again. “Miss Swan, it’s just one censored kiss. We’ll get one someday. Maybe the finale,” she says thoughtfully, and Emma hangs up with a mixture of hope and defeat.

 

The pre-episode promotion is all about Rose and a huge twist, and the Rose Captain fans see Killian’s name in the press release and are ecstatic. _#RoseCaptainLives_ , they trend on the day of the episode, and Victory Rose fans don’t trend at all. They’re excited and terrified; discouraged and hopeful; vocal and very, very quiet. 

 

Emma doesn’t sleep the night before the episode, and she thinks back to the kiss that’s been cut and the future of Victory Rose. And she takes a leaf out of the Victory Rose shippers’ book and dreams, and dreams, and dreams… 

 

* * *

 

**in which the story is indelibly changed.**

 

Mary Margaret’s event is a rainbow-themed mock slumber party, and Emma tugs on a ratty brown jacket over plaid pajamas and arrives just in time to bump into Regina, in a casual blouse and too-large glasses and bearing a rainbow cheesecake. “I love you,” Emma says, gaping at the cake and forgetting herself, and Regina flushes and says, “It’s for later. After the East Coast airing.” 

 

They’ve been ordered to liveblog both, and most of the usuals are already there. Marian, Jamaal, and Henry are curled up on the sofa in pajamas with matching beams on their faces and a rainbow banner on the wall behind them. A few of the actors from the episode are present, also, a palpable air of excitement suffusing the room. 

 

“You’re going to change the world tonight,” Ruby says when they walk in, applauding them both.

 

Regina says, “Let’s not go _that_ far.” She glances at Emma and Emma knows what she’s thinking about, the kiss that couldn’t be. For all the media and publicity, it feels like a paltry offering to their fans to give them something still subtextual enough to be labeled _friendship_. 

 

Emma wants to give them the whole world, to give them this one night of pure joy without second-guessing, and the lack of a kiss still burns hard at her. But she forces a grin and slides down onto the floor in front of the couch, Regina following suit, and admits, “Maybe just a tiny bit,” as she looks around.

 

There’s a cheerful poster above the massive TV screen with a fan-photoshopped photo of Snow, Charming, Jamie, Victoria, and Rose, and it’s emblazoned with the logo _It’s a family show!_

 

Mary Margaret doesn’t do anything halfway. They’re each given a thermos and a T-shirt with the same photo and logo, and there’s low music filtering in from the kitchen that sounds like Tegan and Sara. _Has she done research for this?_

 

Aside from the atmosphere, it’s mostly business as usual as the episode starts. There’s a surge of excitement, a lot of enthusiasm, and Emma half-focuses on the screen and does an impromptu _#AskEmma_ session during commercial breaks.

 

Regina is asked to describe Emma. _A pain in the ass,_ she writes, unfiltered and relaxed like Emma’s never seen her. _But cute._

 

Emma pokes Regina, unamused. _A pain in the ass sitting right next to me as she insults me,_ she says to the equivalent question. _But also very cute._ So maybe they’re both like this.

 

“We’re going to be the worst kind of nauseating costars, aren’t we?” she says, groaning. 

 

“Like you haven’t been already?” Henry says like the smartass he is. Emma pinches his leg and he yelps. 

 

Regina pinches her right back. “Don’t manhandle my son.” But she’s laughing too, unburdened by the atmosphere. Tonight feels like anything can happen, like the world really is shifting just a millimeter off-center, and it’s easier than ever to forget all the ways none of this has been perfect along the way. 

 

Regina is glowing tonight, beautiful with unbridled joy on her face, and Emma has forgone the liveblogging midway through to watch Regina and then the screen, awed at both of them. 

 

They’re almost done. The clock reads 8:48 and they’re on the final commercial break of the night, and the room has fallen silent. No one is liveblogging right now. No one is talking. Everyone is watching the screen.

 

The scene opens on an empty room, blank walls and starkly lit. Victoria and Rose are standing in the same places where they’d left Rose’s final memory, and Victoria  says, “ _Have you found it yet? Are you ready?_ ” 

 

Rose is still wary, still confused, still searching for an anchor. “ _All I know is that wherever I am, you seem to be there, too, right?_ ” Victoria is silent. Rose pushes on.“ _And you were right before. We were meant to be enemies and we were meant to hate each other but all I see is that we were always meant to be_ ** _something_** _. And that’s–_ “ 

 

Twitter is already screaming, already in shock, already waiting for the moment they can’t believe is happening. Victoria is speaking onscreen and the Victory Rose fans are flooding Emma’s mentions, but she only sees what they’re saying with half an eye, focused on the screen. 

 

“ _It’s your choice. It’s not all destiny and fate. You choose your own reason to return, if it’s Jamie or Snow or–_ “ 

 

“ _I choose you,_ ” Rose says, and surges across the space between them to–

 

Emma’s expecting the forehead kiss, the kiss Cora had been sure they’d have to settle for; and she lets out a strangled sound when it’s the real kiss that airs, lips pressed together and Victoria tender as Rose laughs and cries in her arms. Emma stares in shock and wonderment, heart clenching and expanding like it never has before.

 

The room erupts in shouts and cheers. Henry Vines the whole thing and posts it on Twitter. Mary Margaret and David do their own kiss like they think it’s New Year’s. 

 

And Emma manages through her wonder, “Selfie?” because they should, right? She turns to put her face up next to Regina’s and Regina, eyes shining with exhilaration, goes in for a kiss instead. Emma turns to meet her, because of course she does. 

 

She captions the tweet simply, the Victory Rose emoji bright on her Twitter like a promise.

 

 

 

 

They get an article in the New York Times’s Television section, which is _wild_. “ _Disney’s First Lesbian Fairytale Has Been Five Years In The Making.”_ Autostraddle goes with the ever-wry, “ _The Lesbian Kiss Of Death Has Been Upgraded To The Kiss of Life.”_

 

They’re _everywhere,_ making headlines and turning heads and crossing out of pseudo-genre TV into the mainstream. Gold is ebullient, Leopold pleasantly surprised at all the fuss, and Cora in her element. They’re making news and headlines– “ _Victory for Victory Rose!”  “Disney Finally Hits the Twenty-First Century!”_ – and there’s so much positivity, so much enthusiasm, and a whole lot of well-founded cynicism.

 

Emma misses most of it. She’s curled up with her laptop, reading her Twitter mentions.

 

She goes to Tumblr and sees ebullient fans under siege, and for the first time in her career, she writes a series of strongly-worded tweets about that one thing she’s never allowed herself to before.

 

There’s a plea to stop the ship wars, of course, but she’s also firm about what they’re doing. “ _This is not a publicity stunt. This is not about which fandom screamed loudest. This is about the story we needed to tell, and I’m awed and honored to be a part of it.”_ And she buries herself in scrapbooks, in fan mail, in every shocked and tearful response to the episode.

 

She also spends much too much time staring at her own tweet, which is gaining traction again, and at Regina’s mouth curling into a smile as she leans in for the kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Twitter manip is by curiously-curious, whose fabulous art you can find [here](http://curiouslycurious-me.tumblr.com/tagged/art:%20mine).


	16. Chapter 16

**in which regina is, like, a political lesbian or something.**

 

Emma’s been so caught up in the fans and the media acclaim, focusing on the good stuff and ignoring the angry homophobes and even angrier anti-shippers, that it comes as a surprise to her on her first day back when a PA knocks urgently on her trailer door. “Security has been trying to escort her away but you know how she gets when she’s angry,” he says fretfully. “I thought you could–“ 

 

“Regina,” Emma says, developing a headache in advance. “Where is she?” 

 

Emma thinks Gold’s office, maybe, or having it out with Mary Margaret. “In front of the studio,” the PA says, and Emma hurries out, confused, and finds Regina in a shouting match with–

 

They have people _picketing_ now? It’s one of those One Million Moms-esque groups, a crowd of white, middle-aged protesters shoving past the regular set fans and bearing some very strongly-worded signs. _STOP PERVERSION OF A FAMILY SHOW! KEEP OUR CHILDREN’S FAIRYTALES SAFE! JESUS ROSE, NOT VICTORY ROSE!_

 

There’s one with Regina and Emma's on it, their eyes scratched out and devil horns on their heads, and Emma wonders amusedly if she could borrow it and try framing it in her living room. “So I guess they heard about the hundredth, huh?” she says, and then she catches sight of Regina, right up in front of them.

 

Security is on either side of her, politely tugging at her arms, but she’s at of the gate, in the faces of the foremost protesters with eyes like fire as she shouts something about Henry. “Family values, my _ass_ –“ 

 

“Regina.” Emma grabs her hand. The protesters stare, aghast. Regina glares at them all in defiance and kisses a very startled Emma. “ _Regina_ ,” she repeats, tearing herself away from her. 

 

Someone throws a sign that glances lightly off the back of Emma’s head. Which is, apparently, the limit for security to swarm in, escorting the protesters across the road and calling the cops. Emma leans forward, rubbing her head, and restrains Regina before she can start yelling at them again. “Come on, Regina,” she says, struggling to sound as pitiful as possible. “My head hurts.”

 

Regina is finally torn from the protesters to put a hand on Emma’s back, escorting her back toward the trailers with another glower at the protesters. “We’ll put some ice on it,” she says, pulling the door open for Emma. “You can bring up a lawsuit if you have–“ 

 

“No more kissing offstage,” Emma says firmly. “I mean it.” 

 

Regina had been flushed with righteous fury and with Evil-Queen-levels of murder in her eyes, but she deflates at Emma’s request. “Oh. Of course not.” 

 

It’s just…it’s getting even more confusing now, playing Rose-in-love onstage and playing Emma-not-in-love offstage. It doesn’t help when Regina is shouting down homophobes and Emma kind of wants to snap photos and distribute them throughout fandom. 

 

(Is Emma an Evil Regal. Rose clearly is. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.) 

 

Emma is trying to play it cool, anyway. And it doesn’t help that Regina is, like, a political lesbian or something these days. She comes online to vines of Regina kissing her and three dozen Rose Captain shippers leaping to her defense after “Regina sexually assaulted her.” She retweets one passive-aggressively in response, _@ReginaMills making a statement to protesters on set!_ and adds on a laughing emoji to make her point clear.

 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Regina mutters later, stepping back into her trailer after she’s wrapped for the day. She’s staring everywhere but at Emma, hesitant and shamefaced, and Emma winces and shrugs moodily and goes out for drinks alone that night.

 

They’re back to spending more time together and it kind of sucks, considering. It’s great and it’s frustrating and Emma hadn’t been very good at getting over Regina in the first place– and now their scenes are all with the ambiguity of whether or not it’s all one-sided or if Victoria feels the same.

 

“The writers won’t even tell us if Victoria remembers Rose’s dream,” Emma explains to a reporter at the exclusive photoshoot they’re doing for _Entertainment Weekly_. “I wish I knew, too.” 

 

Regina coughs delicately and Emma turns, wide-eyed. “You know!” 

 

“Of course I know,” Regina says, pursing her lips. “Cora kept me informed. I couldn’t play my role accurately if I didn’t know what Victoria knows.”

 

“Tell me,” Emma demands, and the _EW_ reporter watches them keenly, taking notes. “You can’t hide this from me! It’s our ship!” 

 

“And look at all that pent-up curiosity you’re channeling into Rose,” Regina drawls, smirking like the cat that got the cream. Emma sulks.

 

The final battle in 5a had unleashed all of hell in Happily Ever After, bringing forward villains old and new, and this season is character-heavy. Rose is dealing with her inner demons, still not free of the Dark One but finally ready to fight back, and Victoria is struggling with her mother returning to menace the town. 

 

“It’s a tough situation for Victoria,” Regina says. “She wants to help Rose and she wants to stop Cordelia, but she knows deep down that the only way she’ll ever be able to fight Cordelia is with the Dark One’s powers. So she’s conflicted. And she isn’t going to put it on Rose.”

 

“This arc is focused intimately on the main cast– how we heal, how we fight, how we work together,” Emma puts in. “You’ll see a lot of characters who don’t usually get screentime together getting a focus. Rose and Snow are going to have an episode where they’re forced to face Peter Pan again, and he’s going to take advantage of Rose’s insecurities about her mother’s love again. It forces some heavy declarations from Snow that I hope she’ll follow through on.”

 

The reporter alternates between questions about the show and questions about Victory Rose, and follows up at the end with one for Regina. “And you’ve been very protective of your fans, from what I’ve heard about your experiences on set.”

 

Regina says, “We’ve both been,” gesturing to Emma. Emma bobs her head. “It’s…It’s lonely out there, being an LGBT-identified teenager or young adult. And I think it’s important that our fans know that they’re not alone. That they have us in their camp.”

 

“And you, Emma.” The reporter zeroes in on her. “Your first role and you’re about to become an LGBT icon. Are you worried about being typecast?” 

 

Emma shrugs, uncomfortable with all the dissemination. “I’m…I think that Rose Turner is a unique character with a lot of layers and nuance, and her sexuality is just one small piece of that. I hope she and I both will be remembered as more than just half of a queer couple.” 

 

The photoshoot is one just for the two of them and Jamaal, _Disney’s New It Family!_ They’re changed back and forth from Evil Queen and Dark Rose to mayor and sheriff, posing together and with Jamaal as a family. 

 

And then there are the photos that are less…family. “Closer,” the photographer orders. “Hands on her hips.” Emma slides her hands onto Regina’s hips. Regina tilts her head back, eyes lidded and lips parted just a hair. “Good. Keep that smolder.” 

 

He snaps a few shots before he says, “Roll your hips a little, Regina,” and Emma’s fingers tense. “Hey,” she says, eyes narrowing as Regina obliges. Emma is warm and aching and very, very uncomfortable. “When David and Mary Margaret did this shoot, there wasn’t any _grinding_.” 

 

Regina exchanges a glance with her. “Really, I think we’re more comfortable with the family photos. We’re playing Disney characters, not oversexualized lesbians on HBO.”

 

The photographer shrugs. “I was told to capture something intimate. A little closer, ladies.” 

 

“Gold!” Regina says sharply. 

 

He sees their uncertainty and limps over, eyeing the way they’re still standing and scowling. There’s a rushed conversation between him and the photographer, and Emma’s fingers dig into Regina’s skin as she waits, Regina warm where she’s pressed against her. 

 

The article winds up using a family photo of them on the cover and a few on the main spread, too. It’s only when Emma turns the page to the final page of the exclusive that she sees the final photo that they’d taken that Gold had approved.

 

_Intimate._

 

It’s Emma and Regina pressed together from their foreheads all the way to the tips of their noses, eyes crinkled and smiles wide with laughter as the article goes on. _The natural chemistry between Mills and Swan is by no means overstated and may be, in fact, the initial inspiration for their characters' pairing. "She hated me at first," Swan confides, eyes sparkling as her costar smirks beside her. "It's taken time for us to get to this place." Time, it seems, well-spent._

 

* * *

 

**in which emma becomes a commodity.**

 

They’re in the woods in the rain, a CGI monstrosity to loom over them, and Victoria is hurling fireball after useless fireball at the creature. “ _Get down!_ ” she orders Rose and Jamie. “ _I’ve got this._ ” 

 

The creature is supposed to lurch back right then, a fireball making contact at last, and Rose shoves Jamie and he scampers, rushing away. Victoria throws another fireball, this one strong enough that the creature will bellow and claw at her, sending her flying.

 

Rose is on her feet in a moment, eyes flashing with dark fire. “ _Get the hell away from her,_ ” she hisses, and throws out a stream of magic that– onscreen– will turn the monster to dust. Her eyes are black, she’s shaking with the power she hadn’t been supposed to use, and Victoria gasps, “ _Rose, no!_ ” and charges for her.

 

Rose is spun around, her magic still thrumming through her, and there’s a moment when purple and grey will meet and explode, and Rose lurches forward and kisses Victoria with all that power contained within her.

 

This kiss isn’t the tender one that Emma and Regina had practiced for the hundredth. This is furious and desperate and drunk with power, and they cling to each other and gasp into each other’s mouths as the rain pounds onto them. When they part, Regina– no, _Victoria_ – looks at her as though she wants to eat her alive and she just…

 

She wants, she wants, she’s terrified of how much she wants. And Regina– for all her kissing and passionate defense of Victory Rose– does not want.

 

She loses Rose for a second, watches Regina with frightened eyes, and Regina jerks back– Victoria, Victoria, it’s always Victoria– and says breathlessly, “ _We should…_ ” 

 

Emma struggles to remember her line. “ _Find Jamie. Right._ ” The flustered words are a little too genuine, and she excuses herself when they finish filming to flee back to her trailer.

 

Just in time, of course, for Cora’s PA to knock at her door and summon her to Cora’s bungalow. She gathers her composure along the way, prepared for the worst. 

 

But it isn’t that. “I have an opportunity for you,” Cora says, steepling her fingers.

 

Not now. Not again. “Another resume padder? I’m really not in the–“ 

 

Cora cuts her off. “A movie. Hollywood, blockbuster, theatrical release.” Emma freezes. Cora smiles. “I have some friends who’ve been piqued by your work with Dark Swan and Victory Rose, and they’ve agreed to have you audition for the lead role.”

 

“In a…” Emma leans forward. “A _movie_? A _lead_?” 

 

“Nimue loves Rose,” Cora says, passing Emma a printout of sections of the script to audition to. “She thinks you have a gift for heavy action roles that retain your vulnerability. And being willing to play a gay character is always a sign of the kind of actress who takes chances. You’ve turned a lot of heads lately, you know.” She preens, expecting a thank you, and Emma obliges warily. “Everyone wants to know about you. And this is quite the step forward.” 

 

“Yes,” Emma says, a bit dazed.

 

She auditions for the studio with a half dozen other actresses waiting after her, all TV actresses who’ve earned some marginal level of success. Nimue is a game-maker, apparently, the kind of producer who levels actors up from familiar face to household name, and Emma fits her profile.

 

This could mean permanent job security beyond an aging show, and Emma does her best to do justice to the script. “We’ll be in contact with you,” Nimue says when she’s done, shaking her hand. “I’m a big fan.”

 

Which…Emma’s never had _big fans_ before, not like this. No one important. “Playing queer characters is very trendy these days. You’re news now,” Regina says when Emma tells her about it, but she looks pleased behind the cynicism. “You deserve it.”

 

“I don’t even know if I _have_ it,” Emma points out.

 

“Nimue isn’t good at subtle,” Regina says wryly. “I once saw her toss a clipboard at an actor and give him stitches because she didn’t like his _diction_. If you think she liked you, she definitely did. You’ll get a callback at least. They’re willing to work with your schedule?” Emma bobs her head. “This is wonderful, Emma.”

 

She says it genuinely, and it still hits something raw and longing within Emma– a reminder of a future without Regina. Emma can’t imagine it anymore. Emma refuses to imagine it anymore. She hasn’t _gotten over_ Regina to lose her because of it.

 

* * *

 

**in which killian has his revenge.**

 

“Read this,” Marian says, throwing the magazine on the table. Emma blinks curiously at her. Marian glares.

 

Emma picks it up. It’s a gossip rag, one of the kind you wouldn’t even pick up on the supermarket aisle, and it promises  _Exclusive Behind-the-Scenes Scoop on Victory Rose!_ Which is nothing new, considering how popular the show has become, but Emma flips to the page with a wary eye on a still-steaming Marian. 

 

And it’s pretty tame. It’s some discussion of old conflicts between Emma and Regina, though it doesn’t go into any more detail than they’d mentioned in the _EW_ exclusive. There’s a glancing mention of New Guy and a claim that Victory Rose hadn’t been planned at all, and then…

 

_“'That whole Victory Rose bit is a bit s***,’ our unnamed source reveals. ‘You have one lesbian actress with a crush and they’re suddenly pressuring everyone involved to get in it. Shame, really.’”_

 

Emma sinks down to the couch. “No one’s going to believe that.” 

 

“You sure about that?” Marian demands, and she still looks more irritated than protective and Emma doesn’t _get_ it. 

 

The article gets nastier then. It accuses her of making it all political, of pushing the producers past breaking point, of demanding that her onscreen love interests be fired because–“ 

 

“Fucking _Killian_ ,” she grits out, finally putting the pieces together. 

 

“Fucking Killian indeed,” Marian echoes, still unamused. Emma dials his number and hits voicemail. Dials it again. Voicemail. Leaves a furious message. Checks Twitter.

 

And then freezes, because it’s even worse than she’d thought. 

 

Because of course Killian hadn’t named names. And Emma honestly doesn’t give a damn if everyone is wondering some horribly embarrassing things about her. But to others– to everyone who’s picked up this article– it’s the one picking fights for her fanbase whom they’re zeroing in on. 

 

“Regina,” she says blankly.

 

“Regina,” Marian agrees, joining her on the couch to watch her scroll through Twitter. She has dozens of supportive messages encouraging her to fight on (all with Killian icons, _fuck this_ ) and people fuming at Regina. Mainstream media isn’t picking this rumor up just yet but the Twittersphere knows and Emma shakes with rage. Not Regina. They can’t put this on Regina.

 

She calls Regina and Regina is in her trailer moments later, the two of them bent over their phones as they scroll through. “It doesn’t matter,” Regina says dismissively. “It’s just a gossip item.” 

 

Except it does, doesn’t it? It matters to Regina’s career and it matters to these rumors about them and it matters–

 

It matters to Emma. “I’m going to say something,” she says, opening a new message.

 

Regina seizes her by the wrist. “You will not,” she snaps, eyes dark and protective. “Acknowledging it gives it validity. And you can’t take credit for it without putting your career on the line. I’ve gotten through worse gossip.”

 

The gossip dies down but never fully, and Emma is angry and defensive but Gold and Regina both won’t let her respond to it. She takes selfies with Regina instead, overly friendly ones that have Regina rolling her eyes.

 

_@EmmaSwan14 I can’t believe they’re forcing you to do MORE pr with that bitch. You have #RoseCaptain’s support!_

 

_@ReginaMills fuck off fuck off fuck offfffffff_

 

_Hate the way that @EmmaSwan14 is being taken advantage of to prop up a costar and shippers who’ve done nothing but make her uncomfortable >:(_

 

_@EmmaSwan14 @ReginaMills VICTORY ROSE IS FOREVER!!!!!!!! SWAN QUEEN IS REAL!!!!_

 

She goes to Tumblr, which is a headache no matter where she goes. On one hand, the Rose Captain shippers and some Victory Outlaw ones (there are still those?) are livid, spewing hate at Regina and bringing up photo after photo of the two of them together to analyze the discomfort all over Emma’s face, _apparently_. They provide handy photos of her with Killian for comparison, and are very sure that Regina is the villain keeping Killian and Emma apart.

 

On the other hand, the Victory Rose- no, _Swan Queen_ shippers– some of whom categorically deny the truth of the gossip, but too many who don’t– have blossomed overnight, rumors going wild about Regina and Emma’s relationship. _I saw them at FT2,_ one fan insists. _You wouldn’t believe this. Emma came into the meet and greet totally wasted and Regina tucked her in on the couch, I swear._ No one believes that rumor, as usual, but there’s a lot of smutty fanfiction about it by morning.

 

Regina falls into the habit of screencapping her favorite angry tweets and texting them to Emma. “I think I’m going to start a scrapbook,” she says thoughtfully. 

 

“How are you so calm about this?” Emma demands.

 

Regina shrugs. “I was in my twenties when I sabotaged my own career with well-placed rumors. This is child’s play.” She screencaps another favorite, one accusing her of stringing New Guy along to…trick Emma and Killian into double-dating them? _Okay, then._ “There are worse rumors than this.” 

 

Her eyes are warm, enough that Emma flushes and turns away, and Regina pats her thigh absentmindedly as she scrolls on.

 

* * *

 

**in which it’s all too easy to fall into character.**

 

They’ve just finished the Cruella episode, where Rose is being haunted by her one kill pre-Dark One and she refuses to seek any help for it. Victoria steps in, protective to a fault, breaks away from her mother at a pivotal moment and kills Cruella again before Rose can do it.

 

Rose is furious, Victoria unflinchingly protective, and the two characters are at odds at the end of the episode. Emma sags when they finish the final scene ( _“You have no right to fight my battles for me!”_ Rose snaps, still with darkness dancing in her eyes. _“Haven’t you interfered in my life enough?”_ Victoria reels back and snaps retorts just as biting and the scene ends with a slam of the door and both of them angry and longing on either side of it), stepping out of Rose’s house to enfold Regina in a hug. 

 

“This was one of their better fights,” Regina says when they head back to the studio together. “It’s good to know they haven’t become bland and agreeable now that they’re official love interests.” 

 

Emma snorts in agreement, trailing after Regina into her trailer. They’re still in their characters’ clothing, taking a moment to themselves after a long day of filming, and it’s a relief to get to sit on Regina’s couch and close her eyes for a minute. “I wouldn’t believe it if they had.” 

 

“I wonder how long this will last.” The next script is a heavy Rumplestiltskin-centric with very little Rose in it, but what there is is a terse conversation with Victoria about Jamie staying with her while Cordelia is still a menace. Emma peers at Regina through one open eye. “Depends on whether or not Victoria knows about Rose’s dream, right?” 

 

“Nice try.” Regina swoops down, pinches her arm, and saunters back across the room. “Sometimes you’re exactly like her, you know?” 

 

“Ditto,” Emma shoots back, following her to the kitchen area. “We’ve been inhabiting Rose and Victoria for so long that I don’t even know where we start and they end.” Regina had made the same accusation when Emma had brought up their one out-of-character kiss, years ago, though today it carries new implications.

 

“I think there’s still some difference,” Regina says, smirking. “For one, Victoria is _much_ fonder of Snow White than I am Mary Margaret.” 

 

“Maybe you just needed to go on some death-defying adventures together,” Emma suggests. “Rose definitely feels all the same ways as I do about…” _Both of you_ , she nearly says, but catches herself in time. “…Mary Margaret,” she finishes lamely.

 

Regina arches an eyebrow but says nothing in response to _that_. “For another,” she continues as though Emma had never spoken. “I think that Victoria actually finds this _terrible getup_ charming.” She tweaks the edge of Emma’s red leather jacket. 

 

Emma brightens. “I knew it!” 

 

“It’s hideous and tacky,” Regina says, but there’s mischief in her eyes, daring Emma to interrupt whatever game she’s playing. “But I imagine that Victoria would be very pleased with Rose in this jacket…” Her fingers run over the zipper from the top, pausing at the swell of Emma’s breast. “…And those boots…” Her foot slides out of one shoe and wiggles up Emma’s leg. Regina breathes, warm against Emma’s ear, “…And absolutely nothing else.” 

 

Emma swallows very audibly. Regina makes a motion with her teeth just shy of nipping her ear– _nipping her ear!_ – and whirls around, producing a thermos of coffee from nowhere. “And, well, Victoria and I differ on many things, of course.”

 

“Of course.” Emma snatches the thermos from her, swallowing down a burning mouthful of it as Regina watches, eyebrows raised. “And then there are the similarities. Like you’re both smug assholes!” she offers cheerily, her stomach still flipping from Regina’s last stunt. It’s so easy for them to _pretend_ when they have Victoria and Rose to fall back on, to run circles around each other with no consequence, and all of it is still getting muddled in Emma’s mind. 

 

“Don’t tell your followers,” Regina says, unrepentant. “I think they’re this close to employing a firing squad to take me down.”

 

“Still at it?” She gets pseudo-cryptic tweets from them still, following whichever new stories the rumor mill has churned out. _Killian Jones Returning for Season Six_ is the most recent, and someone has manufactured a behind-the-scenes story about a new Regina-Emma conflict that means the end of Victory Rose. The set spoilers imply a conflict (between Rose and Victoria, but the audience doesn’t know that) that only corroborates it.

 

The Victory Rose shippers– more than ever– get together and trend grateful phrases for them both. Some of them have taken to sending Emma tweets reminding her of the beautiful friendship she has with Regina, as though they think they’re playing peacemaker between them. “They’re protecting you from my _evil lesbian desir_ e for you,” Regina teases, looking very satisfied when Emma’s skin heats up in response. 

 

On one occasion, Regina and Emma both receive flowers bearing the message _I miss you_ and signed with the other’s initialand Regina laughs so hard that she nearly drops her flowers. They put them in a vase together in Emma’s trailer, the cards proudly displayed in front of them. “It’s cute,” Emma says, admiring them. “Intrusive and misguided, but cute.”

 

_Killian Jones Returning to Moderate SDCC HEA Panel_ is the next new rumor, but that one is rooted in truth. “Milah is seeing him again,” Mary Margaret whispers to Emma as they film the final episode of the season. “Gold is furious about all of it but I think Lacey is keeping him on a tight leash these days and he knows what sells.” 

 

Emma tweets _@TheRealKJones Can’t wait to see you at SDCC! We’ve got a lot to catch up on! :)_ and rubs her hands, confident in the threat. The Rose Captain shippers go wild, and she shakes her head and sends another. _@TheRealKJones I know @ReginaMills is looking forward to it too. :)_

 

Twitter pauses, bewildered, and Regina’s reply is swift. _@EmmaSwan14 @TheRealKJones oh yes_. She punctuates with a kiss emoji and they’re really just fucking with the audience at this point, aren’t they? 

 

Regina stalks into studio a few minutes later, looking very smug. Mary Margaret shakes her head. “You two are going to start a fandom revolt.” She’s wrapped for the season, but she stays around with the skeleton crew covering the final scenes of the episode.

 

Rose and Victoria, after several episodes in conflict, have another heated argument and wake up chained to the wall of a moving truck. “ _Victoria,_ ” Emma hisses as she slips into character. “ _Victoria, wake up. I can’t feel my magic._ ”

 

Victoria’s head lolls for a moment and then she immediately jerks awake. “ _What the hell?_ ” She twists her hand in its bonds as though searching for fire and shakes with rage as nothing happens. “ _No. We’ve been abducted. Someone’s taken us over the town line.”_

 

They both wear at their bonds, and Victoria manages to smash a mirror in her pocket and use a shard to cut herself free. She unknots Rose and they engage in some very awkward apologies as they fumble at the locked door at the back of the truck.  _“I do trust you,_ ” Victoria murmurs.  _“I didn’t kill Cruella because I thought you’d go dark if you did. I just…thought you had enough on your plate right now.”_

 

Rose is quiet, eyes searching and vulnerable, and Victoria reaches out and wraps Rose into their first embrace ever. They stand in each other’s arms, unsteady as the truck roars on with them inside, and they hold on tightly to keep the other upright.

 

And as they pull apart, Rose gazes at her with the same vulnerability, and she dares to venture, “ _Were you there with me when I was dreaming?”_

 

_“Every step of the way,”_ Victoria whispers, lips curling into a soft smile as they meet Rose's at last.

 

It’s a stage kiss at first and then it isn’t, it’s too long and it means too much to them. Emma doesn’t delude herself into thinking that it’ll ever be about her and Regina, but it’s about them and Victory Rose, about the battle they’ve been fighting for five years. And now, this is their all.

 

They stand back as the door to the truck rolls open, a little breathless as they fall back into Rose and Victoria, and they stumble out to blink in the light of a loading garage. It’s well guarded, the men and women around them grim and armed, and Rose seizes Victoria’s arm before she can run at them.

 

A man steps forward, dressed in judge’s robes as he sneers down at them. “ _I am Judge Claude Frollo of the Maine Supreme Court_ ,” he says, and Victoria’s mouth sets into an equally arrogant scowl in return. “ _And it’s time we purged the world of the fairytale abomination among us._ ” 

 

There’s a moment for the two of them to react before the director calls, “Cut!” and Mary Margaret says, still staring at Emma as though thunderstruck, “Oh, my god, Emma, are you gay?” 

 

So that happens.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on reviews from the hundredth but I promise I'll get back to everyone asap!! Here is a double-length chapter so you know I've been productive regardless, ha.

**in which everything is different (but nothing has changed).**

 

“What was it like?” the fan at the microphone says, hopeful eyes up at the stage. “Reading that script for the first time and realizing that Victory Rose was happening?” 

 

The question is directed to Emma, and she hesitates, biting hard on her lip and struggling to remember the tweets she’d drafted after Victory Rose had happened. She glances toward Regina beseechingly, and Regina says, “It was incredibly emotional for us both. It felt right for the characters and the relationship in that moment, and we’re so grateful to be a part of this.” 

 

“It’s been an amazing ride,” Emma supplies, and the fan looks…not quite disappointed, but not happy, either. Just resigned. 

 

Later, Emma reads her mentions on Twitter, spots the snide  _Of course she won’t even cater to us now that we’re canon_ tweets and the encouraging _#RoseCaptain still loves you, Emma!_ cries in response. She’d been doing so well when promoting the ship had meant talking about canon and the stories ahead, and only now that they’re in con season has she started tripping up again.

 

She doesn’t have the words to define any of what Victory Rose means to her, and while Regina has her canned response ready each time, Emma remains at a loss. She’s been getting as many tweets badgering her about it as Leopold does about his favorite turtle ( _Those big ones? How is this relevant to HEA??_ he’d finally tweeted one day in confusion, and an answer had never come), and she suspects it’s another private fan campaign to eke out a real answer from her. 

 

The other answers are easy enough to give. It’s Emma and Regina’s first fan panel together at a con in Florida, and it’s packed with Victory Rose fans. “We were told halfway through the scene to swap the kiss out for a forehead kiss,” Emma recalls, and grudgingly gives credit where credit is due. “Cora’s interference was the only reason it made it onscreen in the end.” 

 

“I don’t think I’m allowed to answer that question,” Regina says to a fan who wants to know when Victoria had fallen in love with Rose. “But if you want to know when _I_ first thought of it as a possibility…” 

 

“I do,” Emma puts in, eyeing her curiously. Regina had been a mystery back then, but she’d always felt one step ahead of Emma when it had come to fandom. 

 

“Season One,” Regina begins, and the audience cheers. “Episode One,” she finishes, equally definitive, and the audience cheers louder.

 

Emma gapes. “You did not!” 

 

“Jamie has two mommies?” Regina retorts. “Only one knows the truth and only one can break her spell? We were narrative gold from the start.” She smiles– _step into my web, said the spider to the fly_ – and drawls, “Why, Em-ma? When did you first see it?” 

 

Regina knows exactly when Emma had first seen it because Emma had admitted the entire harrowing experience of _Emma’s First Fanfiction_ multiple times before. Emma shrugs, noncommittal. “Near the end of Season One,” she mutters, giving Regina a dark look. She remembers her audience and clears her throat. “I never thought it would actually happen, though, not until we got that script for the first time. I just…liked the idea of Rose having a family like that.” 

 

The audience is pleased with that, at least, and Regina and Emma end the panel on a high note. Emma puts a hand on Regina’s back, steadying her as she rises, and there are cheers and some discernible boos from the audience. Emma grimaces. The grimace is immediately uploaded to Tumblr, Emma sulking as she escorts Regina from the stage, and she has a dozen sympathetic tweets waiting for her when she takes out her phone a moment later.

 

The rumors have gotten worse since Mary Margaret’s outburst during their final scene. Mary Margaret is defensive about the whole business. “I just asked a question! You really seemed to like that kiss!” 

 

“I’m an actor!” She’d laughed it off when Mary Margaret had first brought it up on set, but the conspiracy theories are worse and worse from the fans. The last fan on line for their dual photo op gives them each a thick scrapbook “celebrating the Swan Queen friendship over the course of the show.” 

 

“You know we don’t actually hate each other, right?” Emma says, setting it down and getting into position. “I even made Regina a scrapbook of my own after we officially became canon in the finale.” 

 

Exchanging gifts had been Mary Margaret’s idea, which had meant that there’d been no way that Regina would take any of it seriously. “She’s very proud of it. My gift was better,” Regina says, smiling at the camera as the photo is taken.

 

“You bought me stock in a mouthwash company!” The fan is looking back and forth between them, wide-eyed as though she’s afraid to laugh. “I painstakingly found the most compelling commentary on you on the Internet–“

 

“You went through the _anti Regina Mills_ tag on Tumblr and pasted them into a photo book,” Regina scoffs, rolling her eyes. “At least _Twitter_ hate would have taken some effort to find. My gift was practical for both of us.”

 

“Not that we know about Tumblr,” Emma says quickly, glancing at the fan. “Nope. You never heard any of this.” 

 

“No one would believe you, anyway,” Regina puts in. She’s smiling thinly, a not-quite-threat in her eyes, and Emma nudges her until she drops the expression. “Viva la Victory Rose?” she says instead, and tucks the scrapbook under her arm and winks at the fan as they’re hurried over to the autograph tables.

 

“You’re going to give them all a heart attack,” Emma says later, though she’s already seen the fan’s story laughed off and dismissed on Twitter. Regina is curled up on the couch in her hotel room, flipping through the scrapbook.

 

“How do they _find_ these photos?” Regina wonders, turning the scrapbook so Emma can see a photo of them at upfronts a few years back. It’s blurry, like it’s been taken from a video, but Emma can still see her awkward smile and Regina’s smirk. _Vintage Swan Queen_ , the page reads. It also prominently features the tweet in which Emma had referred to Regina as an Evil Queen.

 

“The one where you described me as _actress_ is on the next page,” Regina informs her. “Truly an incisive expose of my real essence.” 

 

There’s a tweet on the page she’s on that calls Emma _competent_ , so Emma doesn’t really think she has much grounds to mock. Instead of pointing that out, she flops back onto her bed and tugs out one of the other scrapbooks they’d gotten. 

 

It’s titled _The Art of Victory Rose_ and is packed with paintings and fanart, each one  with an accompanying blurb from a fan. The stories from prior years are more resonant now, more emotional. There are coming out stories but there are also ones of hesitant acceptance, of closeted fans watching in gratified disbelief as their families begin rooting for Victory Rose, too. 

 

_…My mom shut off the show when Victoria and Rose kissed and said we’d watch something else on Sunday nights. And then my dad said no, we were going to keep going, and I burst into tears and told them everything. And Mom’s been trying, she really has, and I…_

 

_…I want a love like Rose and Victoria’s. I want to be able to look at my best friend and know that she loves me like I love her. I want the fairytale…_

 

_…I’m never going to be able to come out. Not where I live, not with my family. But I have a daughter and she’s going to watch Happily Ever After in a few years and she’s going to get to see another way…_

 

_…I was just on the cusp of putting words like queer and non-binary to how I was feeling when I fell in love with Victory Rose and its community. And they’ve been so supportive and pulled me through a lot, but more than anything, it’s been watching you two reach out to us and give us a place to belong…_

 

_…My son’s been having difficulty in school for the past year or so with bullies who’ve been picking on him because of us. I can’t tell you what it meant to us to have him watch this season and see Jamie with two moms who love each other and him. I can’t tell you what it means…_

 

_…I look at Rose and Victoria and I think about ‘how about we make today the day we both beat fate’ and I can’t stop thinking about it. About what it means that they found something so extraordinary after all those years of pain and settling, that it really happened. And I want to make my own destiny, too._

 

It’s fulfilling, exhausting, and it means the world. Emma reads and reads until her eyes are red and worn out and finally drifting shut. The last thing she sees is Regina on the couch, still staring at the scrapbook with equally red-rimmed eyes.

 

* * *

 

**in which too many lines intersect (to worrying effect)**

 

Emma does get the callback from Nimue early in summer, though she’s assured again that she’ll have plenty of time to read. “We’re down to the four actresses we were most impressed with,” Nimue had said then. “We’ll begin filming in November and we’ve already spoken with Cora about scheduling for the second half of Season Six. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” 

 

She’d spoken with confidence, as though Emma is a done deal; and two weeks into the summer, Emma does her chemistry read with the actor who may be playing her co-lead. “Wonderful, wonderful,” Nimue says when she’s done. 

 

The actor looks pleased as well. “I want her,” he says without preamble. 

 

Another producer nods. “They have the rapport. She has the look–“ He motions at her body, eyes flickering down Emma’s curves in an uncomfortably long movement. “She’ll need to lose a bit of weight, of course, but definitely a top contender.” 

 

“I’m right here,” Emma says, indignant. She’s all _muscle_ , she isn’t losing that for a film, and she doesn’t appreciate being objectified like this no matter what the role. Behind the producers, Marian slashes her hand across her throat in a _cut it out_ warning. Emma sighs. “Never mind,” she says to the frowning producer. “You just…go back to doing your thing.” 

 

Nimue smiles indulgently. “Cora did say that she was fond of this one,” she says, and the others nod as though that explains it. “We’ll be in touch with you again soon.” Marian stays back to talk business with Nimue’s people, but she wriggles her fingers between Emma’s and squeezes, reassuring and congratulatory.

 

Emma’s a contract away from a real future in this business, and she’s still a bit shellshocked. “I kind of…figured I’d go back to waiting tables,” she admits to Regina on the flight out to the Paris con. This is their third year in a row doing it; but this year, they have company. Marian is in the seat beside Emma and Jamaal is playing a video game with Henry in the row in front of them, ready for his first independent con.

 

“That’s ridiculous and a waste of your skill,” Regina retorts, but she puts a hand on Emma’s wrist and her voice drops an octave, the sharpness fading. “Is this what you want?” 

 

“Yeah.” Yeah, she is. “I’m happier than…than I’ve ever been, I think. It feels like it’s all coming together now.” 

 

“I want you to be happy,” Regina murmurs, and she’s studying Emma’s face with a sudden intensity, searching for something within it that Emma can’t name. “If there’s…anything else you need for that…” Her voice trails off, almost tentatively expectant.

 

_No_. There’s nothing she still wants that Regina can– _will_ – give her. “Not at all,” Emma says, plastering a smile on her face, and Regina seems to deflate.

 

“Ah. Well, good.” She regains her equilibrium in a moment, and Emma is still left at a loss as Marian snickers from beside them. “What?” Regina demands.

 

Marian holds up a hand. “Nothing. Just…wondering if you two wanted to be alone.” 

 

Regina gives her a dark look and she falls silent. Emma watches both of them, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

 

This con is high-energy, the kind that exhausts Emma and has Regina balancing each fan like she really is Mayor Stone and they’re all her constituents. She asks for names, listens to stories and holds people’s hands and always has something to respond. Emma doesn’t feel like she has the same finesse– neither of them are people people, but Regina has been trained in this and Emma…

 

Emma smiles and listens and struggles all the time to connect, caught between fear of exposing too much of herself and the desire to give everyone what they need. She fails on both counts and winds up stumbling through her meet-and-greet and talking too much to the two Rose Captain shippers who’ve cornered her.

 

“I…I don’t know if Killian is planning on coming back?” she says uncertainly. “I don’t think I’d be allowed to tell you if I did. Right now, that isn’t the story we’re writing.” 

 

“Right,” one of them says, and Emma can see the resentment in their eyes and winces on Regina’s behalf. “Is there anything for Rose next year as an…independent character?” 

 

“I’ve always admired how she’s never needed a love interest to be a strong female character,” the other chimes in, and Emma says something vague and noncommittal as Victory Rose shippers look on them with disappointment.

 

When they do get their moment, it’s with stubborn faces and the expectant, “How did it feel to realize that Victory Rose was happening?” and there’s no Regina to spare her this time.

 

She clears her throat. “I was…surprised? I really didn’t expect it to happen,” she tries, and it falls flat even to her own ears. “I’m glad it did, though,” she says swiftly. “I like red-eared sliders?” is her final attempt, and only one fan laughs. 

 

A Rose Captain fan says, “How did it feel to realize that Rose Captain was ending?” and Emma is just as trapped by that question. 

 

Finally, someone– someone she nearly recognizes by now, a regular at her meet-and-greets for the past few years– cuts in with a sympathetic question about Dark Rose that she’s relieved to be distracted by. 

 

It’s a bit harder when she’s onstage the next day, Jamaal sitting between her and Regina as they field questions. She dodges the one about her reaction to Victory Rose with discussion of Rose herself. “It’s just an incredible moment for Rose. Because she spends so much time thinking about what she means to everyone else– as the savior, as a mother, as a friend and a daughter and a leader– and Victoria is forcing her to step back.”

 

Her voice picks up, gaining confidence as she speaks. She can talk about Rose, even if she can’t handle talk about her own feelings. “Victoria is telling her ‘No, this can’t be about anyone but you and what you need.’ And Rose puts away all those things she is to everyone else and searches for what she wants, and realizes that the only person she’s ever pursued– the only one she’s ever gone out of her comfort zone to connect with– is Victoria. And I think…in that moment, I think she finally figured out that she was in love.”

 

“I think Victoria’s been a little in love with Rose since Season Two,” Regina says, shaking her head. “It crept up on her, too, though I doubt she ever believed anything would come of it. I’ve played her with a certain care for Rose– first as someone Jamie loves, then as someone who was…important to her, as a pupil and a coparent and eventually a friend.” 

 

The audience hangs onto their every word, enthusiastic as they run through more questions about Victory Rose and other, non-show-related topics. Emma sings a terrible pop song. They both teach their magic-casting stances to the audience. Regina shows off her skills at mastering teenaged boys and Jamaal plays along while Emma makes mock-snide comments.

 

It’s going well, and near the end, Emma doesn’t think anything of it when a girl says, “My question is for Jamaal.” He perks up, grinning at the girl as she blushes. “What do you think Jamie’s reaction to Victory Rose would be?” 

 

“Gross!” he says, laughing. “My eyes, Moms!” He grows serious. “I think he’d be happy that his family would be all together, and really glad that they’re both happy. Just happy all around.” Emma leans over and musses his hair, unexplainably fond, and he whines, “Emma!”

 

They wrap up to the applause of the audience, and Emma’s relieved at their first successful group panel as she’s hurried to her autographs station. She doesn’t have time to check Twitter until much later in the day, after her second meet-and-greet.

 

And when she does, it’s to madness. 

 

_He’s 16. If he doesn’t understand why he can’t reply to a question about queer women by calling them GROSS, he shouldn’t be at cons._

 

_Idk, he seemed really angry in that video. Like he didn’t want to be asked about it at all._

 

_Great, Emma snagged herself another Rose Captain shipper from the family. Can’t we just have this one thing??_

 

_MAYBE Jamaal is just pissed at Regina’s creepy obsession with Emma and Victory Rose and he’s protecting the mom he actually LIKES._

 

_Angry. Gross. Anti._ The same tweets, the same heated arguments back and forth. Emma’s temper flares and she’s stabbing out a tweet before anyone can stop her.  _Do you want_ ** _any_** _of us to come to cons anymore?_ she demands furiously, and the tweets come pouring in.

 

The knock at her door a moment later isn’t Regina, as she’d expected, but Marian. “Thank you,” she says, hurrying past Emma to sink down onto the couch. “This is…god, this is a disaster.” 

 

“It’s not Jamaal’s fault.” Emma glares at her phone again. “Even I know what an asshole move it is to assume a black– partially black–?“ 

 

“Afro-Latino,” Marian offers, quirking an eyebrow at her with gratified surprise.

 

“Right. To decide he’s _angry_ offhand. The audience actually _here_  loved him.” She can already guess how it had spread, can imagine the initial tweet that reported his answer as _gross!!_ without any addition or mention of tone. “He won’t get into trouble over this.” 

 

But it’s a promise she can’t keep.

 

* * *

 

**in which drastic measures are taken.**

 

The hostility fades with a day or two and with Regina with an arm wrapped around Jamaal at the closing ceremony, protective. She kisses his temple and dances with him and allows for no more assumptions about whether or not he’s a part of some great Victory Rose behind-the-scenes split, and it all seems somewhat smoothed over by the end of the con.

 

The angry rumors about Regina’s sexuality are louder than ever, the irritated ones about Emma’s reticence still flying, and now Jamaal has entered the mix. Emma had thought things would be _easier_ once Victory Rose was canon.

 

And then Marian is back at her apartment a few days later, eyes hollow and afraid. “He’s too old. That’s what Cora’s saying now. The timeline is too tight and Jamaal is too old and suddenly they’re talking about terminating his contract.” 

 

Emma’s fists clench. “They can’t terminate his contract over this.” 

 

“He hadn’t been offered a renewal past six seasons before now, and I’ve been in talks with Gold about it but… There are enough clauses they can lean on. And it isn’t…it’s not a good idea to be on Cora’s bad side in Hollywood.” Marian looks exhausted, searching for an answer that Emma can’t offer. “I can’t tell Regina any of this. She’ll overreact and throw herself in the line of fire and she has enough on her plate these days. I just don’t know what to do.”

 

“I’ll talk to Cora. She can’t do this. There’s no way the audience would accept it.” 

 

“The audience won’t accept Jamaal as Rose and Victoria’s thirteen-year-old son when he’s seventeen or eighteen,” Cora informs her when she arrives at the writers’ room the next day. “And you know that Disney likes to see these things done right. A controversial child actor–“ 

 

“So this is about the con.” Emma had come in ready to fight, and it’s only been through sheer force of will that she hasn’t thrown a punch yet. “He isn’t controversial. He just said–“ 

 

“He said some very triggering things to LGBT fans. We have to support our diverse fandom first when they’re faced with homophobia.” 

 

“Then why is Leopold still with the writing staff?” Emma says, frustrated. Cora raises her eyebrows and Emma takes a deep breath. “Look, I’ve said much worse. Regina’s said much worse. The fans will get angry and then get over it. It’s not a big deal.” 

 

It isn’t a big deal. But it’s an excuse for Cora to push Jamaal aside and make her picture-perfect Stone-Turner family where they all fit just right, and she’s unyielding no matter what Emma says.

 

“We have some child actors in mind,” Cora offers, tossing out a few names Emma recognizes.

 

And every one of them is… “So just a coincidence that they're all white?” 

 

“Actually, one of them has a Hispanic grandfather. We’re still very faithful to colorblind casting,” Cora says smugly. “Very talented actors, very charismatic, and we’ll do chemistry reads with you beforehand to be sure that you have some say in this.” 

 

“I won’t do it. I’ll…” _Quit,_ she thinks, and her heart stops before she can manage the words. Quitting now, with a movie contract still unsigned and Cora the enemy she can’t afford is probably the most ill-advised thing she’ll ever do. But… 

 

“You’ll do nothing,” says a voice from behind her, and Emma’s relieved and aghast to see Regina stride past her. “ _Mother_. What is it that Jamaal’s been telling me?” 

 

“Regina, stay out of this,” Emma says, but she can already see the hard look in her eyes, the determination to _end this_ that’s going to trip them up. “I’m taking care of it.” 

 

“Explain,” Regina says, ignoring Emma completely. 

 

Cora speaks evenly, fingers linked and face just as hard as Regina’s. “You know the original plan for the show was six seasons. But with the boost from Victory Rose, we’ve been offered another three at least. Jamaal is aging out of the show, it’s that simple.” 

 

“It’s that simple,” Regina echoes, unimpressed. “Except I’m still the only other cast member who hasn’t signed a contract renewal past six seasons.” 

 

Cora sighs. “This again, dear? We both know you’ll sign it, co-producer credit and all.” 

 

This is a battle Emma hasn’t been privy to before, and she eyes them both curiously as Regina growls, “You underestimate me, Mother. I don’t want the credit, I don’t want to be _you_ , and I will leave the show after this season if you take it from Jamaal.” 

 

“You would leave while Emma stays and take Victory Rose’s happy ending from your fans?” Cora demands, eyes gleaming with victory. Regina stills. “No, you’ll stay. And with that producer credit, you’ll have the power to find Jamaal something else, I’m sure.” 

 

Regina is a mass of contained energy, furious and impotent and ready to burst. Emma says, “If they go, I go too.” 

 

Cora’s eyes slit. “ _You_ have a contract, Miss Swan.” 

 

“I’ll break it.” The future is sliding away from her rapidly, and Regina hisses a warning to her that she dismisses. “End it after Season Six or don’t, but it doesn’t survive without both of us. And there’s no need to replace Jamaal just for one last season.”

 

She doesn’t waver in her threat, not when Regina puts a hand on her back and not when Cora says, “We shall see.”

 

* * *

 

**in which regina says three little words (no, not _those_ ).**

 

The media is set to announce that the sixth season of the show will be its last at SDCC. “You’ll have steady work regardless,” Regina says when she reports it back to Emma on the bus to the con. “I’ve made sure that Mother won’t interfere with Nimue, and they’re set to offer you the contract.” 

 

“And you?” 

 

Regina sighs. “I’m going to work with Mother, of course. It’s all she’s ever wanted from me.” There’s a shadow in her eyes, an air of defeat that signifies what Regina’s done for this to end peacefully, and Emma squeezes her hand. “I never wanted to put you in that position.” 

 

“Mutual sacrifice?” Emma leans back against the window. “Maybe it’s just our characters rubbing off on us.” She laughs, but Regina doesn’t. “Does everyone know yet?” 

 

“I assume everyone has been informed.” Mary Margaret is watching them from the front of the bus, thoughtful but not hostile. David has a hand resting on Jamaal’s shoulder as he talks to him, and Emma is quietly grateful for them both. “I don’t know. It’s all moved so quickly.” 

 

When Regina is overwhelmed, she gets snippy, and she makes snide comments at Mary Margaret until they’re finally stepping out into the SDCC carpet for photos. “Victory Rose! Over here!” They’ve coordinated colors for the event, though Emma’s taken advantage of their new branding to get away with jeans and a formal-ish jacket that she’d stolen from Regina’s closet.

 

(“How very lesbian chic of you,” Regina had said, eyes hot on Emma’s face as she’d done Emma’s tie, and Emma had chosen to take the sarcasm as a compliment.)

 

“Victory Rose!” someone else is calling, and they’re inundated with questions about their wardrobe and the ship and the show. Emma answers as many as she can, deflecting like a pro, and she’s feeling pretty pleased with herself right up until a reporter says, “And tell us about the other love story between you two!” 

 

“What?” Emma says, caught. 

 

“Regina, would you say that your unrequited feelings for Emma were what pushed you to have your mother write Victory Rose?” Regina tilts her head, eyes narrowing, and Emma gapes at the reporter’s forwardness. Somehow, the petty rumors have spread from fandom circles to the SDCC red carpet, and they both look trapped.

 

“You know what?” Emma says finally, seizing Regina’s wrist. “You’re full of shit. And we’re going inside.” 

 

Regina murmurs a warning to Emma, but Emma pulls them both away, into a welcome room and back toward where Gold is waving them to him. “It’s fine,” Regina says wearily. “Just tiresome.” 

 

“It’s not fine. You don’t pay the price for _Killian,_ ” she snarls, and there he is again, lurking on the other side of the room as though he knows better than to engage with them just yet. “I swear, if I get anywhere near him–“ She makes eye contact and his eyes widen. He slips away, and Emma doesn’t see him again until moments before their panel.

 

She doesn’t have a chance to pull him aside alone, and he smirks at Regina and her unamused looks as he introduces himself (to overwhelming applause). She pauses to glare at him several times during the early questions until Regina mutters in her ear, “They’re just going to take you staring at him as proof of your eternal love.” 

 

Emma scowls, frustrated and trapped. Killian says, “And our lovely star, of course, a question for you. What can we hope to see of Rose’s journey next year?” 

 

She turns away from him to smile at the audience instead. “A lot of her…getting back to her roots, really. She’s had this incredible journey learning magic and finding true love–“ She glances at Regina and then Killian, watching smugly as his face grows darker. “But, you know, there’s still so much of her that comes from the real world that the audience really identifies with, and we’re going to see her fight just as hard against Frollo without the tools she’s had in the past.” 

 

“We’re bringing in Frollo this year because of what he represents– bigotry, hatred, and loathing of what he refuses to understand,” Cora puts in. “And what better time to explore that than when our two magic-wielding protagonists begin a relationship?” She goes on, talking about Esmeralda as Rose and Victoria’s guide in the real world, sleekly diverting from what could have been Emma and Killian antagonizing each other some more. 

 

_(So much sexual tension!_ she imagines the fandom is crying now. _They’ve missed each other so much!_ But if they do say it, she doesn't see it the next morning when she finally tugs out her phone. There are other, more shocking revelations to come.)

 

Mary Margaret is talking now, rueful admissions about her baby as David acts mock-offended. Jamaal talks a bit about his real and fictional families and about his friendship with Henry. They all describe their characters’ journeys in one sentence and Lacey manages to talk for three minutes straight without a run-on. “There’s a semicolon there!” she says when Regina calls her out on it, and they all laugh except Emma, who’s still steaming.

 

Emma darts furious, frustrated glares at Killian right up until he opens for questions from the audience. 

 

“My question is for Emma,” the first fan says, and there’s a note of wryness in her voice, a note of resigned disappointment. _This again._ “Just…wondering what it was like, reading that script for the first time and realizing that Victory Rose was real.” 

 

There’s a titter in the audience, an audible sigh from Cora, and Regina leans forward to run interference. “We read it together,” she starts. “It was–“

 

“It was a story I’d been waiting for my whole life,” Emma cuts in, and Regina looks at her, alarmed. The crowd stops laughing. 

 

“Emma,” Regina says, voice strained. From beside her, Cora shakes her head. Killian’s smirk is fading.

 

Emma bites her lip, staring out at the sea of fans and realizing suddenly that she’s making a huge mistake. She laughs uncertainly. “When I was a kid, I thought…I don’t know. I wasn’t going to get a fairytale, no matter how tragic my past. Fairytales end with princes and kisses and true love, not…not princesses.” The audience murmurs now, louder and louder until Emma has to clear her throat to silence them. 

 

The words catch and she has to swallow them back before they all spill out in a bout of nausea. “I spent a lot of my teenage years hiding, but I was out by default in my twenties. There isn’t any fear when you don’t have anyone to lose. And I was so alone. And then…” 

 

She gestures at the cast, hesitating on Jamaal’s wide-eyed face and moving swiftly past Regina’s set jaw before she turns back to her captive audience. “To get a story like this– to spend five years watching this perfect fairytale unfold– I’ve said before that I didn’t think it would happen. I didn’t believe in happy endings, see?” 

 

Her voice is hoarse, thick with the tears she keeps blinking out of her eyes, and Mary Margaret crosses the stage to wrap an arm around her. Emma doesn’t dare look at Regina, at the disapproval that must be swimming in her eyes. “And Rose got hers. Rose got…” her voice trails off, and she presses her fingers against her closed eyelids for a moment, rubbing furiously. 

 

Killian makes a noise and is abruptly cut off. Emma sucks in a shaky breath and leans against Mary Margaret’s arm for a moment before she straightens again. “So how it felt to read that script? It felt like I could _believe_ again for the first time since I was a kid,” she says, squinting through wet eyes to try and see the fan at the microphone. The girl’s face is red and blotchy, her eyes shimmering with new tears and her lips quivering. 

 

Emma struggles to smile and addresses the audience again. “There was no grand conspiracy. Just an angry ex-costar running his mouth,” she adds, because she’s nothing if not a little petty. There’s a nervous titter from the audience. Killian flashes a charming smile that looks a bit stilted. 

 

“So lay off Regina,” Emma barks out. She can’t seem to stop talking. But there’s hooting and cheering from the audience and then thunderous applause, and Emma sits back, forcing herself to breathe evenly again as Mary Margaret strokes her back.

 

Gold says smugly, “Next question, Killian?”

 

In their private room after the panel, Emma’s surrounded by costars as Killian makes his escape, Jamaal wrapped around her and David with an arm slung over her shoulder. Cora is still shaking her head, looking displeased at the whole matter, but there’s a glimmer of something like admiration on her face, too. And Regina…

 

Regina isn’t there. “Maybe she went straight to the media room?” Mary Margaret says, frowning. “I’ll go look for her.” 

 

“It’s fine. It’s…” Emma feels drained, too drained to figure out Regina right now. “Give me a few minutes, okay? You guys go ahead.” She sends her security out, too, ignores a missed call from Marian and takes a moment to breathe.

 

She isn’t ready just yet for the onslaught of the media, for the questions and analysis and all the answers she’s going to have to give. She isn’t ready to face whatever consequences there might be for her, and she takes a deep breath and stands up, moving slowly to the door, when someone seizes her shoulder and spins her around.

 

“You _idiot_ ,” Regina snaps, as flushed and spitting mad as she’d been at the picketing moms. “What were you trying to accomplish out there? I don’t need a _savior_ , Miss Swan,” she growls.

 

“Maybe you did!” Emma says helplessly. “You deserve more than being debased and typecast for being a good ally. Or…whatever the hell you are, I still can’t figure that out.” Regina stares at her as though she doesn’t know if she’s going to laugh or scream. “Killian was my problem, not yours, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin you for another ten years, okay?” 

 

“My knight in shining armor,” Regina mocks, but she’s staring at Emma with horror. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to yourself?” 

 

“I told the truth.” And it’s a relief as much as it’s a looming threat in the near future. “I _protected_ you. And I know you’ll never feel the same way about me as I do you, but I’m still going to fight for–“ 

 

A new flash of frustration crosses Regina’s face. “For fuck’s sake,” she says, and stalks across the distance between them and kisses her.

 

* * *

 

**in which our heroes come (to an understanding) at last.**

 

Emma reels backward and Regina takes a step back, looking suddenly uncertain. “No, get over here. _Regina_ ,” Emma says, reaching to lace her fingers between Regina’s, and she tugs her closer again. She doesn’t know what’s changed Regina’s mind but she’s terrified that this might be fleeting, that they’ll be back to the coolness of Season Three again, and she refuses to lose this one moment now.

 

She kisses her again, tangles her free fingers in Regina’s hair and feels a soft palm against her cheek and Regina’s lips against hers. They’re molding into each other, eyes closed and bodies swaying, and Emma slides her tongue along Regina's teeth and smiles into her gasp.

 

Regina’s fingers work in slow, grazing touches at the curve of Emma’s jaw, light and teasing as her teeth nip demandingly at Emma’s lip. It’s _Regina_ , stubborn and unexpected. Emma jumps and Regina laughs, her body vibrating against Emma’s and setting every nerve on fire.

 

“Oh!” says a voice from behind them. “Oh, _oh_. I guess you found her.” It’s Mary Margaret, mouth dropping and eyes very round. “Um…” 

 

Regina stiffens against Emma, pulling away from her a moment later, and Emma swallows, remembering Daniel and Henry and a dozen missteps between the other two women in the room. “Mary Margaret,” she says urgently. “You can’t tell anyone about this, _please._ I’ve already brought enough attention to us by coming out, and if you get Regina involved–“ 

 

“I wouldn’t tell!” Mary Margaret says, outraged. She folds under Regina’s glare. “I won’t,” she says again. “I wouldn’t…not ever again. I know you won’t believe that I could ever…but I'd never to Emma.” She blinks rapidly, wringing her hands and still looking faintly uncomfortable. “I’m…it’s great that you’re…I’m really proud of you, Emma,” she says finally. “I’ll just head to the media tables now.” 

 

“We’ll be right there,” Emma says, watching her go. “It’s going to be okay,” she promises, turning back to a still frozen Regina. “Please don’t shut me out again.” It emerges as a whisper, a plea too vulnerable that has Regina softening. 

 

“I wouldn’t,” she murmurs, watching her own hands as they slide up and down Emma’s tie. “Never again.” She tugs Emma close again, a hand curled around the tie so her fingers graze at Emma's collarbone, and kisses her briefly. “We’ll talk later,” she promises, and their hands fall apart again as Emma pushes the door open.

 

They sit on either side of Jamaal at interviews and go together to a multi-fandom LGBTQ panel where they sit side by side and steal glances at each other in between questions. “And we have a guest here who makes one of three actors on this panel who identify as LGBTQ _and_ play a character who does. Emma Swan,” the moderator says, and there’s more cheering. “Tell us about your decision to come out today.” 

 

“I opened my mouth and words fell out?” Emma tries, laughing nervously. “But no, seriously, I think…” Somewhere along the line, she’d had to start protecting herself to by hiding, and she’d in turn been isolated from her own community. And it’s a relief to speak openly now, to talk to the media and be open and untethered by the restraints in place. “I think I owed it to my fans,” she says finally. “To let them know that they haven’t been alone.” 

 

Regina reaches out instinctively and squeezes her hand, and Emma looks up to a smiling glance from the moderator and flushes. 

 

They don’t have a private moment after that. They’re rushed to another series of interviews and then to change for the afterparty, which mostly consists of many, many drunk celebrities and a back room that Emma hasn’t ventured into since Cora had dragged her there before Season Two. 

 

She peers around, searching for Regina in the poorly lit room, and a familiar voice from behind her says, “Hey, nice job today.” 

 

She turns, eyes narrowed. “Milah.” 

 

Milah holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause any trouble for you. Just heard the news and wanted to wish you luck.” She shrugs, clinking her drink against Emma’s. “Killian’s back in the doghouse. I know what you think of me, but I never did look kindly on outing a colleague. Idle threats, you know.” She laughs.

 

Emma says, less than amused, “Have you seen anyone from the show around?” 

 

“Just your work wife,” Milah says, nodding to a spot behind Emma, and Emma twists just as Regina’s hand lands on Emma’s waist proprietarily. “How’s it going, Regina?” 

 

Regina fixes her with a cool glare. Emma says, “Uh. Good to see you again.” 

 

Milah raises her glass to them, her smirk suggestive as her eyes flicker to Regina’s hand, and saunters off in search of new prey. Regina hisses in Emma’s ear, “ _Her_? You slept with _her_?” She sounds affronted, her fingers digging into Emma’s hipbone. 

 

“It was years ago– how on earth did you figure that out from a two-minute conversation?”

 

“I know you.” Regina sounds irritable. “Though I thought you’d have better taste than _Milah_. Marian was like a hellion, running around with her back in the day.” She scowls, and Emma leans against her shoulder and wisely says nothing. Regina sighs, letting it go. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

 

“No,” Emma says. Regina frowns at her. “No, I’d much rather be…anywhere else.” It’s tentative, still unsure of where they stand, and Regina breathes out and nods.

 

“We should talk,” she says, and leads Emma out of the party and hails a cab to the place where they’re both staying.

 

They sit in awkward silence in the back seat, still too fine-tuned to the other’s presence. Regina’s hand grazes Emma’s once and she nearly gasps, her hand burning and her heart racing. She dares to slide a finger along the inner curve of Regina’s palm and watches Regina bolt upright, eyes facing  straight ahead and breath shallow. 

 

Emma pays the driver. They enter the hotel, call the elevator, fidget next to it until it comes. “Now we talk, right?” Emma says hoarsely. Regina doesn’t answer.

 

The elevator doors close and they’re immediately trapped in each other’s orbit, Regina surging forward and Emma catching her. She flips her around and pins Regina to the elevator wall, hands on her hands and flat against the wall as Emma dives to kiss Regina’s neck. Regina moans, low and deep, feet curling around Emma’s ankles to force her even closer.

 

The elevator dings and they spring apart just in time for the doors to open on an expectant older couple. “Cora’s girl,” the man says, blinking vaguely at Regina, and Regina gives him a terse smile in response. “Going up?” They nod. Emma folds her arms tightly to her stomach and tries to keep them from trembling.

 

She _needs_ – Regina, willingly in her grasp, kissing her back with the same fire that Emma’s yearned for so long. And if she allows herself to believe that, she picks up signals in retrospect, a dozen flirtations and overtures over the past year that she’d missed out on. _It isn’t good for you. It isn’t even good for me_ , she’d said a year ago in Paris, and Regina had immediately stopped whatever she’d been about to respond.

 

_For fuck’s sake right back at you_ , she thinks for a moment, exasperated at them both, and she glances over to Regina. Regina is staring at her, eyes hungry and lips curled like Emma is a very tasty dish she’s about to devour. Emma gulps.

 

The couple gets off at the same floor as they do, and Emma makes a beeline for her door, Regina’s hands gliding over her ass as Emma fumbles with the keycard. “Talk?” Regina rumbles against her neck when the door opens. 

 

No. They’ve waited too long to take a breather at the finish line. “Talk later,” Emma decides, dropping her purse and the keycard on the desk and twisting in Regina’s arms. She kisses Regina, lipstick sliding together before she catches Regina’s lower lip in her teeth and sucks until a purr thrums through Regina. “You…all this time…”

 

“All this time,” Regina agrees, breathless. Emma presses her up against the desk and tugs at the hem of her dress, strokes the back of her thighs and pulls the dress up higher, higher, and then cups the swell of Regina’s ass and lifts her onto the desk. Regina groans. “All the time, _fuck_.” 

 

She’s yanking Emma closer now, hands fumbling at her zipper as she breathes hotly against a spot just behind Emma's earlobe. Emma’s heart beats in time with Regina’s panting, pounding in her chest as though desperate to escape, and her dress puddles to the ground as Regina swipes her tongue along the shell of Emma’s ear.

 

“Wanted you for so long,” Emma gasps out, pulling away to press kisses to Regina’s throat. “I never thought–“ 

 

“I thought you were done with me,” Regina whispers, voice straining and shattering like crystals against Emma’s mouth. “Thought we missed our chance.” Emma sucks at her pulse point again, feels hands cupping her breasts and a thumb flick her nipple. She moves them aside, kissing lower, and Regina runs admiring hands over her biceps instead. 

 

Emma buries herself against the low curve of Regina’s neckline, kissing the tops of her breasts where they swell up. She licks, sucks, nips, leaves a purpling mark. Leaves Regina with her hands buried in Emma’s hair, tugging her closer, her center wet enough that Emma can feel it through lace as Regina grinds into her. “I tried,” Emma manages, slipping a hand between them and her fingers into Regina’s center. “I failed.” She presses a knuckle to Regina’s clit, hard and fast, and Regina cries out.

 

“So sensitive,” Emma says, watching her wonderingly, Regina’s inner walls contracting around her finger again and again. Regina tugs her up to kiss her again, glassy-eyed but with her hands on Emma's cheeks, gazing determinedly at her. Emma shivers, nearly coming undone herself at the look in Regina's eyes. _Emma,_ Regina mouths, but no words escape again, and Emma rubs Regina's clit, flicks it, feels her coming in a series of tremors that she can prolong with every touch. Regina finally slumps, legs sagging at Emma’s sides and arms loose around her shoulders, and Emma lifts her and stumbles to the bed.

 

Regina is already in motion again by the time she makes it there, twisting Emma onto her back so she can crawl onto her, hands lazily tracing circles around Emma’s nipples. “Regina, I swear,” Emma chokes out, more of a plea than a demand. “Evil.” 

 

“Mm,” Regina agrees, hovering as Emma bucks up desperately for contact. She squeezes one breast and locks her lips around the other, hot breath and warm tongue and Emma’s writhing helplessly beneath her. She drags her mouth lower, too slowly, and Emma grits out a threat as Regina laughs against her skin. “Patience, Miss Swan,” she purrs. Emma’s hips jerk wildly, uncontrollable at the name. 

 

“Miss Swan,” Regina breathes again, watching Emma shudder, and she kisses a path down Emma’s abdomen. Her tongue dips teasingly into her navel as she divests Emma of her underwear and squirms lower still. "Emma," Regina echoes, and it feels like coming home.

 

There’s blood pounding in Emma’s ears, louder and louder so she can’t hear anything, and she moans beneath it as Regina’s tongue flicks against her clit. _Regina, Regina, Regina,_ she chants, and it's a dream that's never felt more vivid.  _Her_ Regina _._ Regina is _hers,_  if only for a single, perfect instant.Her legs are on either side of Regina’s head now, jerking wildly as Regina presses her mouth to her lower lips, and her tongue dances a rhythm in and out of Emma’s center. Emma is louder and louder, desperate for release, and she lurches urgently against Regina’s mouth.

 

Regina tweaks her clit once more with her tongue and then slides two fingers into Emma, scissoring them in opposite directions; and Emma splits into pieces, crashes and crashes and crashes until she’s weightless, shattering, everywhere and nowhere at once. She keeps her eyes open. She can't look away from Regina bent over her, eyes like fathomless depths as she watches Emma unravel.

 

Later– much later, when they’re both too tired to move anymore and Emma can taste her own juices on Regina’s lips– Emma rolls over and feels Regina’s arms slide around her, her breasts pressed against Emma’s bare back. “I could get used to this,” Regina murmurs into her hair, and Emma is warm even without a blanket flung over them.

 

Her heart is too fast and not fast enough, Regina wrapped around her and Emma suddenly _believing_ like she had when Rose had kissed Victoria. This is…this is different than it ever had been before, when it had been flirtations and one-night stands and the occasional doomed girlfriend she’d never keep. This is Regina, who she’s loved for so long that she can’t remember how she’d ever felt without that love. This feels  _real_ , like she’s finally found a place she never wants to leave.

 

She reaches halfheartedly for her phone– it’s across the room, too far from Regina’s arms to ever make real effort to retrieve it– to find out what the aftermath of today had been, but Regina’s hands cover hers, find the blanket, draw it over her. Emma turns, moving apart from Regina so she can gaze into her eyes. “Stay with me,” Regina says, eyes soft and bright in a way Emma has never seen them before. “Let them all go on without us tonight.” 

 

Regina kisses her like a revelation, achingly gentle with so much left unspoken, and Emma holds her close until Regina curls into her ams and drifts off to sleep. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The magnificently talented justsing17 wrote [this song](http://justsing17.tumblr.com/post/133479513373/i-wrote-this-song-for-coalitiongirl-and-her) for SUAS and Swan Queen and it's been my whole heart since then, pretty much. Go have a listen!


	18. Chapter 18

**in which plans and puns are made.**

 

Emma wakes up to the pleasant sensation of Regina’s face burrowed into her breasts and her legs wound around one of Emma’s, and to the less than pleasant sensation of someone knocking incessantly on her door.

 

“Make it stop,” Regina groans into her skin. Emma attempts to disentangle herself from Regina. Regina holds on tighter.

 

“Emma!” Henry’s voice sounds from behind the door, and Regina finally lets her go. “Emma, have you seen my mom?” 

 

Regina curls up onto the spot that Emma had just vacated and yanks the blanket over her head. Emma tugs on a tee and her airplane jeans and pulls the door open. “Your mom? Uh, no, haven’t seen her,” she says, failing miserably at nonchalant. “Who’s your mom again? Do I know her?” 

 

“Very funny, Emma,” Henry says, making a face. “Did she fall asleep in here again? I don’t know why you ever get separate rooms at cons when you wind up bunking together every time.” He zeroes in on the suspicious lump on the bed. “Mom, you won’t _believe_ who Jamaal and I met last night. Remember that–“ 

 

“Henry,” Emma says, as gently as she can manage. “Give your mom a few minutes to wake up, okay? It was a late night.” She pats his back and fishes a twenty out of her wallet. “Go get us all breakfast and coffee. My treat.” 

 

Henry takes her twenty and snatches a second one from her wallet, ignoring her “Hey!” 

 

“Fine,” he says, his brow furrowed. “But something weird is up here. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” 

 

As soon as he’s gone, Emma digs through her bag and finds a pair of pajamas for Regina. “If you don’t plan on scarring Henry for life, you might want to get dressed,” she says, pulling the blanket back again. Regina in her naked glory is still a sight to behold, and Emma licks her lips and reminds herself that Henry will be back…soon. Very soon. And who knows what morning means for the two of them, even after last night? 

 

“Flannel,” Regina says, squinting and grimacing. “I might start living the lifestyle, but I’m not wearing the costume.” She tugs at Emma’s hand. 

 

Emma drops onto the bed, happy to let Regina pull her closer. “Hi,” she whispers, smoothing down a curling lock of Regina’s hair. Regina raises her face and kisses Emma carefully, chaste and still smiling with bleary eyes, and Emma breathes.

 

They shower together, mostly for efficiency’s sake when Henry is coming back soon and they both smell like sex, but Regina leans her head against Emma’s shoulder under the spray of water and closes her eyes. Emma slides one hand through Regina’s wet hair and the other against her clit and Regina exhales and smiles, smiles, smiles. 

 

Regina pulls on the pajamas after their shower and Emma finds her clothes for the day just in time for Henry to return with a spread and coffee. “I don’t know why we couldn’t just get room service,” he grumbles, sinking onto the couch with his cocoa. Emma and Regina sit beside each other, a careful distance apart, drinking scalding coffee in perfect rhythm. “I didn’t have to–“ He pauses, staring at them. “Wait a minute.” 

 

“What?” Regina says, eyes widening in mock innocence. Emma tries really, really hard not to snicker. 

 

“You two…you two!” he says, gaping. “I knew something was weird! You’re _together_ , aren’t you?”

 

Emma looks to Regina for guidance. Regina says, “It’s…possible.” 

 

Henry wiggles his eyebrows, eyes lighting up as he looks at their enigmatic faces again. “Mom, _Emma_?” He puts up a hand for a high-five and Regina slaps it bemusedly. “ _Nice_.” 

 

Emma puts up her own hand. “Don’t I get a high-five?” 

 

Henry looks horrified. “For hooking up with my _mom_? Are you insane? I’ve got my eyes on you.” He narrows his eyes and Regina laces her fingers between Emma’s, lowering her raised hand and keeping it between them. Henry beams for a moment before he remembers that he’s supposed to be glaring. 

 

They’re scheduled to fly back to Storybrooke this afternoon for filming the next day, and Henry opts to go with Marian and Jamaal to _give them some privacy_. “We never did talk after…” Regina’s voice trails off and she gives their driver a significant look. The privacy partition slides up. 

 

“You victory’d my rose?” Emma offers, helpfully forming the V with her fingers and wriggling them suggestively.

 

She earns a dark look for her wordplay. “If you ever try that pun again, I will end this relationship on the spot,” Regina threatens.

 

“So this is a relationship.” 

 

“ _Emma_.” 

 

“I’m just saying.” Emma shrugs, eyes dancing. “We haven’t discussed any of this. You did say you could get used to this, but what did _this_ really mean, anyway? The hotel bed? The San Diego temperature? That big TV on the other side of the–“ 

 

Regina kisses her hard, strokes a thumb against Emma’s pulse point and uses her tongue to make some very promising arguments that Emma, frankly, has no retort for her. “Okay,” she says, a little breathless. “Relationship.”

 

“So infuriating,” Regina says primly, turning away, and Emma puts a hand on her thigh that Regina immediately covers with her own.

 

* * *

 

**in which there’s a lot of waiting.**

 

Emma remembers to check Twitter once they’re finally on the plane and Regina has been ordered to sit with Henry and Jamaal. “We’re having a meeting,” Marian informs her. “I think I’m supposed to yell at you, but you also made my son’s day– _year–_ so I’m not going to do that. You did a good thing yesterday.” 

 

“Thanks.”

 

“An idiotic thing, but a good one.” Marian shrugs. “You’ve just made my job a hell of a lot harder. I can handle it. Nimue’s people are scheduled to call us this week or next,” she says, drumming her fingers against the edge of Emma’s laptop. “Look at your Twitter mentions. Mostly positive, more about you than about your ships, for a change. Block the homophobes. Rose Captain fandom varies from supportive to writing you off altogether, but we don’t need them. They’re split on the conflict between you and Killian.” 

 

“They’re taking his side?” Emma says incredulously. She’s always known that they’d preferred Killian, but she’s put years of support into a relationship that she hadn’t wanted for the sake of the fans, and it still stings to see them blatantly choosing him in what Twitter is apparently calling the _#RoseCaptainDivorce_. (Or is it just the Victory Rose fans who are calling it that? There are fewer tears in that tag than there are gleeful celebratory posts.) 

 

Not all of them are, though. There are tweets– tentative, awkward, but heartfelt– from queer Rose Captain shippers, thanking her for her courage. They’re snapped at by furious Killian fans who can’t believe how Emma had–  _emotionally abused and humiliated him? Right–_ but there are quite a few under siege and Emma feels immediately protective of them. 

 

She favorites selectively, careful to include some of the Rose Captain fans in her selections, and Marian nods approvingly and then launches into a discussion about a series of talk show appearances that she has lined up for Emma– “And you,” she says, poking Regina’s shoulder. “Sidney and I have been in touch already. Ellen wants both of you.”

 

“Ellen wants me. Nineteen-year-old Emma has been waiting to hear _that_ all her life,” Emma says, grinning at Marian until a reluctant smile tugs its way onto her face.

 

And it seems like it’s smooth sailing at first. They make it home and Marian is lining up appearances for her and Emma films and waits for Nimue’s call and comes home at night to Regina’s home instead of her own.

 

She regards Regina with a sort of wonder these days, overwhelmed at the idea that this is for _them_ , that they have everything Emma’s always wanted for them both and it’s good. It’s wry commentary on her eating habits and the Millses ganging up on her in the evenings and Emma and Regina ganging up on Henry about some new crush. It's Regina kissing her at the very edge of her jawbone near her ear before leading her up to her bedroom at night. It’s stealing kisses in their trailers between scenes and murmuring suggestive comments in the other's ear during them. 

 

Rose and Victoria have separate arcs, even in prison together. Frollo has zeroed in on Rose as a potential ally while Esmeralda appears in Victoria’s prison cell and promises to teach her about finding the magic inherent in the Land Without Magic. “ _You’ve always wanted to be free of that land,_ ” Frollo says, gazing at a screen that displays a room with many doors. “ _We’ve been watching you for a long time._ ” 

 

“ _Yeah, well, I got used to it,_ ” Rose retorts.

 

Frollo looks triumphant. “ _And the incessant lure of the Dark One? Have you gotten used to that?_ ” His voice lowers as he hits a button and the screen swaps to a laboratory where scientists work with magic beans. “ _Each of those has been infused with a biological weapon that will attack the very core of magic. You have an opportunity to be free of the devil that has settled in your heart_ ,” he promises, and Rose’s face stiffens, a flicker of weakness crossing it. “ _What do you want, Miss Turner?_ ” 

 

“ _I want to see Victoria_ ,” Rose says, and Frollo heaves a sigh.

 

They film a reunion scene, too brief, where Rose is brought to see Victoria. It’s tense and awkward and Emma channels all the discomfort she can manage into that single scene; but when the guards return to take Rose back to her quarters, Rose surges forward, kissing Victoria desperately, and they have to be pulled apart. 

 

They’re doing double duty this episode. There are Rose and Victoria doppelgängers still wandering their fairytale town, and only Jamie suspects that they aren’t who they appear to be. He drafts new deputy Mulan and Belle into his plan to unmask them, and at the end of the episode, the fake Rose and Victoria crumble into stone.

 

(Onscreen, the stone will reform into gargoyles who fly into the night, and return to Esmeralda, their master. It’s a good hook for a season opener, as good as Rose deciding to play along with Frollo in the prior scene.) 

 

It’s a strong episode for Jamaal and a busy one for Emma and Regina, and the quiet moments on set are the ones Emma treasures most. Emma barely goes back to her apartment at all for the first week, borrowing clothes from Regina and doing homework with Henry and her fingers itching around her phone, waiting and waiting and waiting for Nimue. 

 

Regina pries her fingers from her phone one evening, setting it down on the coffee table. “You’ll get a call,” she says, but her eyes are unreadable and Emma itches even more. “You have an early morning call time tomorrow. Don’t let this eat away at you or you’ll be exhausted.” 

 

Emma sinks gratefully into her kiss, tugging Regina until she’s astride Emma’s lap. Regina strokes back Emma’s hair, tilting her face up to kiss her. “Stay with me tonight,” she breathes, as she has almost every night since SDCC. Emma has been home a grand total of three nights in the past week and a half, and only one of them had been without Regina. She’d lain in bed and tossed and turned and reminded herself not to get too attached, even when it’s Regina. She can’t be so dependent on someone else that she doesn’t remember how to be alone. She’s done this too many times before, before she’d learned how it always ends.

 

But she’d been miserable all of that single night and had cheered up only when she’d gotten an emoji– koi-on-a-flagpole, of _course_ – from Regina, just finished filming for the night. Settling in with Regina and Henry feels natural, feels like home. And there’s a part of Emma that is as terrified as she is exhilarated by the promise of it.

 

Being with Regina means hurried kisses in wardrobe and taking turns stumbling out of bed in the morning to take care of breakfast for the three of them. Being with Regina means shared rides to set and kissing onscreen and off and switching off who waits in the car an extra five minutes so nothing looks too suspicious. Being with Regina means dancing naked in the dark one night, skin pressed to skin and music filtering through the room and Regina’s fingers stroking her shoulders where her hair falls.

 

Being with Regina means hiding and revealing so much of herself at once that Emma is lost too quickly, too swept up to remember to be cautious. And when caution comes, it’s from the most crushing of places.

 

The second episode of the season is less of Victory Rose and more centered around the crew at home as Esmeralda spins circles around them. Frollo makes lustful overtures and threats toward Victoria, and Rose submits to scientific examination of the magic within her before she finds Red locked up in another room. They’ve just begun filming it when Emma finally gives up and calls Marian.

 

“It’s been two weeks,” she says, fiddling with the belt of Regina’s dress. Regina pats her hair, her fingers stiff and unsteady. “I just…is this normal for a big picture?” 

 

“I’ll call her again,” Marian promises. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then, “You’re with Regina tonight, right?”

 

“I’m wrapping a few hours earlier, so i figured I’d go back to my apartment–“ 

 

“No,” Regina says, tugging a blonde lock of hair. Emma blinks up at her. She flushes. “I don’t want Henry home alone if I’m not getting back until after midnight.” 

 

“Oh,” Emma says, taken aback at the sudden _for-Henry_ demand. They haven’t had to do that in a long time. “Yeah, sure.” Regina’s eyes are pained, like she’s holding back a fear that Emma can’t glean, and Emma presses a kiss to the back of her hand in reassurance. Regina looks away.

 

She wraps for the day, changes out of Rose’s clothes and gets a ride home, and eats leftovers with Henry with her phone on the table. “Mom would make you leave it in the key drawer if she knew what you were up to,” Henry informs her. “We have strict rules for family who bring their phones to the table.”

“Good thing I’m a guest, then, right?” Henry gives her a look. “Babysitter?” she suggests, and he pokes her in the arm. “Ow!”

 

Henry rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe I picked you out for my mom.” 

 

“Picked me out,” Emma repeats skeptically.

 

“Well, yeah. I liked you first. Without me, you’d probably still be sniping at each other on set.” 

 

“We _are_ still sniping at each other on set!”

 

Henry shakes his head, long-suffering. “You’re impossible. My point is…” His eyes are suddenly calculating. “There’s this thing at Nick’s house tonight–“ 

 

“No.” 

 

“You owe me!” Henry says, indignant. “I just want to make an appearance, okay? A half hour, tops. You can sit in the car if you want to supervise.” He wheedles and she agrees absentmindedly, still checking her phone over and over again.

 

Henry spends an hour at whatever party it is that Emma’s driven to, and she does wait in the car, scrolling through her tweets and stalking Jamaal’s for some clue of what Marian is up to. Regina still isn’t back when they return from the party, Henry heading up to bed without complaint and Emma pacing in the living room.

 

She’s beginning to feel nauseous as the night stretches on, dread rising and her stomach twisting each time her phone buzzes. Finally, _finally_ , Marian’s name appears on her lock screen and Emma yanks up the phone. “Marian.” 

 

“Emma.” Marian’s voice is cautious, gentle, and the nausea whirls faster through Emma as she recognizes the tone from too many social workers and soon-to-be-former foster parents. She _knows_ rejection in the fibers of her bones, and she’s dazedly surprised that it’s something that still comes as a surprise.

 

“There is no contract,” she says flatly, and Marian’s silence is confirmation enough. “Why did they– what happened with the part?” 

 

Marian’s voice is tight, apologetic and irritated. “They insisted that it was because of scheduling concerns. That they just don’t think you’d be able to film the movie and Happily Ever After this year. So they went with their second choice.” 

 

“Okay,” Emma mumbles. “Okay. Why…why did they really reject me?” She knows why already, had pushed it to the back of her mind and refused to contemplate it in the weeks spent waiting and wondering.

 

“You know why,” Marian murmurs. “They’re trying to create America’s sexy action hero sweetheart right now, and that just doesn’t work when…when the audience knows that it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says dully. “Yeah, I guess not.” 

 

Marian clears her throat. “I can…I can make sure you’re seen with certain men, if you want. You can talk about eschewing labels or sexual fluidity on Ellen and try to repair your image–“

 

“But I’m _not_ ,” Emma says. She’s so tired of all of this. “I don’t want to lie anymore, Marian. I just…it’s fine. There’s nothing more you can do.” She shrugs, forgetting Marian can’t see it. “They were assholes, anyway. I didn’t like any of them.” 

 

She hadn’t. She hadn’t liked being on display or being treated like an object, and she’d been terrified of something as huge as a blockbuster movie, and she’s sniffling back tears right now like it matters when it _doesn’t_. Marian’s voice is soft and comforting and Emma hangs up and flees upstairs, curling into Regina’s bed with her back to the door so she can stare blankly at the shadows cast by streetlights on the wall. 

 

She’d never really expected to have any future in the business, anyway, had she? This is fine. This is…nothing has changed, not with one more rejection. She’s saved up enough money from Happily Ever After that she won’t be in trouble anytime soon, and it isn’t like she’d ever expected to have any of this, anyway.

 

She’s been crying silently for a long time when she hears footsteps padding across the floor and a familiar weight on the bed beside her. Regina doesn’t have to ask. Her hand rests on Emma's side, warm and comforting, and she murmurs  _“Cariño, linda, corazon…_ ” a dozen endearments falling like dew to parched skin as Emma sobs out furious, pointless frustrations and never makes a sound.

 

* * *

 

**in which emma plays a dangerous game.**

 

The fifth episode of the season is Rose and Victoria’s big escape from Frollo’s stronghold, aided by Esmeralda and Quasimodo and Red. They’re snippy and stressed out, huddled together as they creep through his stronghold, and Rose and Victoria have a furious conversation about whether or not to go back to destroy the beans. Victoria wins and they burn down the lab, and they make a run for it and don’t stop for hours.

 

Rose calls Snow and breaks down in tears. “ _I’m here,_ ” she whispers into the gas station phone. “ _I’m coming home. I missed you_.” Victoria takes the phone from her and they dance around each other, not quite sure how to interact now that they aren’t whispering to each other from either side of a prison wall. 

 

Esmeralda is still a mystery, as are her allegiances, and it takes them halfway through the trip home before Red points out that they’re being edged off course. “ _It must be a mistake,_ ” Rose whispers, eyes flickering toward Esmeralda. Victoria grinds her teeth and shakes her head.

 

But it isn’t, and they send Esmeralda away even as she desperately swears that she’s on their side. And, in fact, when they do finally make it into town, it’s with Snow and Charming’s help in tearing down a protective barrier that had been constructed around the town to keep Frollo out.

 

By the time they finish the episode, it’s a week of night shoots and a flashback narrative that’s all about Rose and Snow. Emma’s physically and emotionally exhausted by the time she finishes her final scene, throwing herself into Snow's arms as Victoria throws herself into Jamie's, and Mary Margaret pats her back and says, “You need to sleep.” 

 

“I’m going on Ellen tomorrow,” she says, yawning. Ellen had asked for just Emma, in the end, and Regina is being oddly reticent about her feelings on that. Which mostly means scowls and clipped footsteps away from Emma when it’s mentioned. “I have to fly out there in five hours.”

 

She spends them in her own apartment, Regina curled up around her and gone before morning, and Emma sighs blearily and sends her a series of emoji before she heads out. 

 

“Frollo, huh?” Ellen says when they’re onstage, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You know, if Happily Ever After needs a tie-in for Season Seven, I think Dory would test well as a misunderstood antihero.” The audience cheers.

 

“We are looking for more diversity on the show,” Emma offers. “Maybe a humanized blue fish really is the final frontier.”

 

She talks about coming out, about Victory Rose, about the premiere episode scheduled to air just after this episode of The Ellen Show, and she thinks she’s pretty much done when Ellen claps her hands and says, “Actually, we have a little game planned. Being out and famous means it’s a lot tougher to find a casual date, right? So I’m _determined_ to find you a girlfriend here tonight.” 

 

Emma says, “I– That’s really not–“ but she’s already being escorted to the side, a partition set up on the other side of the stage, and the audience begins cheering wildly as someone emerges from it. 

 

“You remember The Dating Game?” Ellen is gone, and in her place is a man in a ridiculous wig and holding a microphone. “You ask questions, and our three eligible bachelorettes–“ Another roar of laughter from the audience. “–On the other side of the stage try to find the perfect answer for you.”

 

Overwhelmed, Emma flashes a smile and plays along. “Um…Perfect date?” she tries.

 

“Boring,” the man chides her.

 

“Okay. Perfect date during a zombie apocalypse?” she tries, and gets an approving nod. 

 

Date A says immediately, “You, me, my…magic carpet somewhere above the screaming zombie hordes. They throw limbs at us, I set my tiger on them.” Emma rolls her eyes. _So this is what we’re doing._

 

Date B is very clearly Ellen. “We dance the night away in a magnificent ballroom. Come midnight, we enjoy a nightcap in my coach– it’ll take the zombies hours to chew through that much pumpkin skin.” 

 

The third contestant’s voice is low and false, but still familiar enough that Emma’s head jerks up. “Offer the zombies my apples and join me for a long, romantic gaze at the fairest of them all in my mirror,” Regina purrs, and the crowd roars. 

 

They go on for another few minutes, Emma throwing out as many questions as she can before she’s given a choice. Dates A and B are flirtatious and suggestive and Date C’s voice gets lower and lower with frustration as it continues. It’s a relief to finally say, “Okay, I pick Date C,” so Regina can emerge in full Disney-Evil-Queen dress. “You look like a nun! I could have dated Jasmine?” she whines, mock-serious, and Date A winks at her and dips Ellen– in Cinderella gear– instead. 

 

“Rose and Emma, not that different after all!” Ellen says gleefully, and Emma plays along, lifts Regina into her arms and walks offstage with her waving to the exultant crowd. 

 

It’s only then that Regina’s smile fades to a glare as they’re de-microphoned. Ellen hurries over to them, her voice low and apologetic. “I’m sorry. If you’d let me know beforehand that you were seeing each other, I wouldn’t have gone with this game.” 

 

“We’re not– I mean, that isn’t–“ Emma sputters. Regina glares some more.

 

(Later, they’re in Emma's hotel room and Regina flips her onto her back, kisses her throat and her heart and her belly. “Mine,” she growls into Emma’s skin. “Mine, mine, mine.” 

 

“Yours,” Emma agrees breathlessly, a hand tangled into Regina’s hair. “Only yours.” Regina crawls up her body again to kiss her fiercely, arms and legs winding around Emma tighter and tighter until Emma is cocooned, warm and safe in Regina’s embrace.)

 

* * *

 

**in which gal pal is not, in fact, universally a colloquial lesbian term.**

 

And this new relationship is so precious, so much of what Emma’s always wanted, that a part of her heart wrenches a bit with every secret kept. It’s asking too much to expect anything more than this. It’s certainly asking too much of Regina.

 

They go to the premiere together, all three of them, and it’s no more obtrusive than it had been when Emma had gone with Killian the year before. “What’s next for you?” the media wants to know on the red carpet. “Have you been seeing anyone?” It’s the question she gets most often now. Emma shakes her head and smiles.

 

“I don’t have any big plans for the future right now,” she says, refusing to think of missed chances and Nimue. “Happily Ever After has been an exhausting, amazing ride, and I don’t want to hurry into anything else just yet.” 

 

Beside her, Regina is involved in discussion of her new producer credit. “I’m looking forward to getting into the family business,” she says, laughing airily. “My father was heavily involved in the business and it feels a bit like carrying on his legacy.” She doesn’t mention her mother, which should irritate Cora quite nicely, and she takes Emma’s arm and steers them inside together.

 

“Where’s Henry?” Emma says, her eyes landing on Jamaal and Marian and Marian’s boyfriend. “I thought he’d be with Jamaal.” 

 

Regina shakes her head, eyes rolling upward. “David has been very vocal about spending time with him lately. I suspect Mary Margaret is concerned about Henry not having a strong father figure.” 

 

“Now,” Emma says dubiously. “Not when you were a single mother, but now?” Mary Margaret is well-meaning and a good friend, but it’s moments like this that have her anxious about Mary Margaret knowing their secret.

 

Regina offers her an exasperated look but doesn’t expand on it. “Come here,” she says, tugging Emma into the bathroom. There’s no attendant in this one, and Emma hovers behind Regina while she dabs at her lips, kissing her back lightly above the fabric of her dress.

 

“No lipstick marks,” Regina says warningly, but she breathes out a sigh and shivers under Emma’s touch. Emma slides her zipper down an inch, tracing the back of her spine, and peeks in the mirror to see Regina’s eyelids grow heavy-lidded. “Emma,” she hisses, nearly inaudible. Emma nips at her skin in warning. 

 

The door creaks. Emma barely manages to yank up Regina’s zipper in time, jumping to the side and fumbling through her bag for lipstick as Cora strides in. “Out, Regina,” she orders. “We’ll talk later.” 

 

Regina’s eyes narrow. “What is this about?” 

 

“Out,” Cora repeats, her tone brooking no argument. “I need to have a conversation with Miss Swan.” 

 

Emma murmurs a low _It’s okay_ to Regina, nudging her gently, and Regina leaves the room with one last suspicious glare for her mother. “What’s going on?” Emma asks, brow furrowing. “Is there a problem with my interviews?” 

 

“A problem,” Cora repeats. “I find you a feature film and you don’t bother to mention it on the red carpet? ‘ _Don’t have any big plans for the future,’_ are you aware of how ungrateful that makes you seem?” 

 

She’s seething, brimming with cool fury directed toward Emma, and Emma takes a moment before she thinks to say, “I didn’t…I didn’t get the role, Cora. Nimue turned me down after…SDCC.” 

 

Cora stares at her. “ _What?_ ” She’s furious again, this time focused on Emma. “And you’re only telling me this now? No wonder Nimue’s been avoiding my calls.” Her eyes darken. “We’ll have to pull out a discrimination suit. We won’t win it, of course, but you’ve accrued too much positive publicity lately for them to risk the bad PR. I’ll have you–“

 

“They’ve already hired someone else,” Emma says helplessly.

“Well, that’s unacceptable,” Cora snaps. “It’s bad enough that my daughter is dating an _actress_ , but she will not date a _failed_ actress.” Emma gapes at her and Cora shrugs, dismissive. “Come now, dear, you can’t possibly believe I didn’t know about that. And I like you a good deal more than the last boy she was sneaking around with. But you’re going to have to put in the effort.”

 

“I am! I’m trying–“ Cora sweeps out before Emma finishes the sentence, already pulling out her phone and ducking away from the bathroom. Emma emerges, a bit dazed, and makes a beeline for Regina.

 

Regina is waiting for her, lit up near the bar in her glittering blue dress and glittering brown gaze, and Emma is awestruck. It’s easy for a moment to forget that they’re pretending that they aren’t together, to lurch forward and wrap an arm around Regina’s elbow and press her forehead to Regina’s cheek. “Hi,” she whispers.

 

Regina’s eyes drift shut as her lips curl into a smile. Mary Margaret clears her throat. Loudly.

 

“Fuck,” Emma mutters into Regina’s neck, pulling away. Regina gives Mary Margaret a dark look.

 

“I’m _helping_ ,” Mary Margaret says, scowling at her. “I’m not ten anymore and I’m on your side. When are you going to understand that?” 

 

“Thank you, Mary Margaret,” Emma says, nudging Regina’s side. “Be nice, both of you.” They fall into a grudging conversation, casual enough to distract the media from what had been a more intimate embrace. when Mary Margaret finally wanders off, Regina rests her head against Emma’s shoulder and Emma says, “Your mom knows about us, by the way.” 

 

“I assumed. She hasn’t set me up on a date in months.” She offers a grudging nod to Cora, on the phone across the room and still watching them. “I think she might approve of you.” She sounds distantly horrified at the idea.

 

“She can still mold me in her image, don’t worry,” Emma says, a headache coming on. “I need a drink.” 

 

(Someone captures a photo of Emma wrapped around Regina,  _Regina Mills and gal pal and onscreen love interest Emma Swan_ , and Emma aches and wishes and doesn’t dare tell Regina.) 

 

* * *

 

**in which cora steps in.**

 

The season continues on. The town is bombarded with scientists, law enforcement, and others of his cronies as they search for any hint of magic in the air. It takes two episodes before Charming makes the wrong friend and Rose is forced to use magic to save him, outing them all, and it takes another three of back-and-forth before Frollo’s grand plan is unveiled.

 

He still has one poisoned bean remaining, toxic enough that it will destroy her if she doesn’t obey him. “ _Destroy the threads that pass between worlds,_ ” he purrs into Rose’s ear at a pivotal moment. “ _Pulverize the magic at its source and save yourself_.” Rose resists, unwilling to sacrifice the rest of the world for herself.

 

But Frollo has a backup plan, and it’s Snow and Victoria who work with him when Rose’s life is on the line. They spin a hat and find themselves in a room with many doors, all interconnected, and Victoria hurls the bean into its center. 

 

It explodes in tendrils, leeching magic out of each door and then Victoria herself until she’s screaming in agony, magic pouring out of her as Snow tries desperately to save her. Rose is screaming at home, too, the Dark One leaving her at last, and Frollo leaves at last, satisfied in his victory.

 

Snow is able to pull Victoria back through their door moments before the bean destroys it, too, and the two of them collapse on the ground as the town begins to fade around them. The magical curse that had built it is gone, and all that’s left are terrified townspeople and a frantic Rose. “ _Mom! Victoria!_ ” she shouts, skidding to a stop in front of them. “ _Why?_ ” she demands tearfully. 

 

Snow rises, placing her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “ _You come first,_ ” she says. “ _Before fairytales and magic. You mean more to me than any of that._ ” She wraps Rose in her embrace and Rose sobs, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder and then peering over it to watch Victoria on the ground. 

 

Snow goes to find Charming and speak with the townspeople, and Rose stares down at Victoria. “ _Why_?” she repeats, this time less sure of herself. 

 

“ _The bean would have poisoned the whole town, given time,_ ” Victoria says, looking away. 

 

“ _We could have left town_ ,” Rose says. “ _We could have run and kept our magic and never destroyed all the portals. I couldn’t_ –“ She chokes back another sob. “ _I couldn’t save our town at the cost of every other realm out there._ ” 

 

“ _I know_ ,” Victoria murmurs. “ _You’re the savior. You carry…all this responsibility on your shoulders._ ” Rose looks down. Victoria doesn’t stop. “ _But I love you,_ ” she whispers, finally admitting what they’d shared a year ago as tears spill down Rose’s cheeks. “ _And sometimes that means letting you be free of the burdens of saviorhood instead. This isn’t on you._ ” 

 

Rose drops down to her knees, Victoria sitting up and Rose sliding her arms around her to kiss her and say “ _I love you, I love you,_ ” over and over again until Esmeralda glides out of the woods behind them and offers them one last chance to save all the realms.

 

It’s a heavy episode for them both; but more so for Regina. She’s been doing the flashback sequence for the episode, too, a story of a rare time that Snow White and the Evil Queen had allied out of necessity. It’s the kind of story that has her grouchy and introspective and spending much more time with Mary Margaret than Regina can ever handle without biting someone’s head off. 

 

Emma does what she can.

 

Regina returns home late on Emma’s day off, hissing her name downstairs so she won’t wake up Henry and sighing heavily when there’s no response. Emma can hear her heels clipping up the stairs and down the hall, the door creaking open, and then Regina is staring at her and gaping.

 

Emma’s propped up on the bed, wearing Rose’s red leather jacket. And her boots. And nothing else. “You might have mentioned that this was something you’d be into,” she says, straightening. She rises, stalking across the room. “Or was that just Victoria?” she prods, eyes challenging. “Should I take it–“ 

 

Regina seizes her by the openings of the jacket and spins her around, kissing her with the force of a maelstrom. She shoves her forward, Emma’s back against the wall, and surges back at her, hands sliding up under the jacket to squeeze and stroke and scrabble at. 

 

Emma twists them, pinning Regina against the wall instead, and Regina lets out a breathy little moan as Emma strips off her clothes with expert efficiency. She unsnaps her bra, slides lacy underwear down to tangle at her heels, and–

 

–hands everywhere, Regina’s eyes dark and her breasts pressed against brown leather boots and her teeth and tongue working at Emma’s inner thighs until Emma sags–

 

–Regina above her on the bed, her lower lip trapped between her teeth and the jacket draped over her shoulders as Emma plunges into her with a rocking motion–

 

–Regina below her, still in control, light brown skin slicked with sweat and Emma’s boots pressing into her side as Emma rides her fingers–

 

–Regina’s bare legs tangled in Emma’s finally-bare legs, her eyes drifting closed as Emma presses a kiss to her wrist and runs idle fingers along her side. And so they sleep.

 

In the morning, Emma has a meeting with Cora. “We’ve…reworked our scheduling for filming,” Nimue says over the speaker. “It looks like we will be offering you the role after all.” Her voice is grudging and a touch resentful, and Cora smiles like she doesn’t give a damn.

 

Emma glances from Cora to the phone and takes in a breath. “Pass.” 

 

“Pass?” Nimue repeats, startled.

 

“ _Pass_?” Cora hisses.

 

“I…I don’t think this role is right for me.” She doesn’t want to work like this, not with people who don’t want her. She doesn’t want to fight even more for a place where she doesn’t belong, to force Nimue to accept her when she _doesn’t_. “I hope you’ll keep me in mind for other roles,” she says, glancing at Cora’s thunderous face. “I’m really looking at television right now.”

 

Nimue sounds affronted. “Yes, well. I don’t deal with _television_ ,” she sniffs.

 

Cora says tightly, “You’ll keep Miss Swan in mind,” in a voice that allows no argument. She hangs up before she whirls on Emma. “Did my daughter put you up to this?” 

 

Emma shakes her head, out of responses that don’t make her sound stupidly prideful and stubborn. Which…maybe, yes, that might be why she’d just thrown away her whole future over some casual homophobia. _Oh, god._  

 

“Television,” Cora repeats, lip curled as though she isn’t producing a television show right now. “Let me guess. You’d like to play an  _LGBT character_.” She spits out the words with disdain, eyes narrowed on Emma like Emma’s done something wrong. “You’re going to actively seek typecasting, aren’t you?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Emma says, lost. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.” 

 

“Here’s where you’ve gotten,” Cora says, leaning forward. Her eyes are unfriendly for the first time in a long time, and Emma sits straight and refuses to budge. “You’ve gotten under my daughter’s skin. And _my daughter_ is not and will never be foolish enough to sabotage her career for a fling.” _A fling._ Emma bites down on the inside of her lip, forcing herself not to respond. 

 

Cora says, “Do you understand that? You will not ruin her over some pet…social justice agenda.” Her gaze is hard and unyielding. “You will headline a show. Something political that will shift attention from your personal life. Something that won’t have anyone wondering about you and your relationship with your dear friend and former costar.” She lowers her voice, and every word is another threat. “I’ve compromised quite a bit on your behalf in the past, but I will not compromise on Regina’s success. _Do you understand._ ” 

 

“I understand,” Emma says mechanically, her throat dry, and Cora smiles thinly.

 

“Good,” she says, returning to her computer, and Emma leaves the office. Regina spots her from where she’s standing on her trailer porch and waves her over, and Emma walks to her with her heart and mind numb. 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did try to organize the fic so this chapter wouldn't end with angst but alas, we've run too long. So you get an extra chapter coming up but not a super ending to this one~

**in which invitations are extended.**

 

It’s six months later (or one week, if you’re asking the actors involved). Victoria clips through the hallways of Frollo’s compound, followed by a half dozen cronies. She tosses out orders, quick and efficient, and she barely looks back once until one assistant hurries to her. “ _The fairytale scum are setting up camp in your old town again._ ”

 

Her eyes darken into an unfriendly glower. “ _My town? I have nothing to do with that wasteland._ ” She lifts her chin again, dismissive. “ _Raze it to the ground._ ” 

 

Across the state, Rose, Snow, and Grumpy are carrying firewood into the campground where town hall used to be. They’re dressed in worn-down clothing, Rose grim at the lead, and Snow says, “ _Where do you think–_ “

 

“ _Not again_ ,” Rose mutters. 

 

“ _It’s been five months since she left us. Don’t you think it’s time to talk about what happened?_ ” 

 

Rose stares straight ahead, dropping her pile of wood to the bottom of their campsite and ignoring her mother. “ _It doesn’t matter._ ” 

 

Grumpy snorts. “ _I don’t know what you expected, trusting an Evil Queen_ ,” he says snidely, and Rose snaps, shoving him hard enough to send his own pile flying. 

 

“ _You don’t talk about her like that!”_

 

“ _I talk about her however I want!_ ** _I’m_** _not her lapdog!_ ”

 

Snow moves between them, exhorting them to behave, but it’s Rose’s phone ringing instead that has her step away. She talks briefly and then hangs up, her face grim. “ _We’re about to be attacked._ ” 

 

(Tomorrow, they’re going to film a skirmish, Victoria’s men arriving in town and Rose and Snow fighting back with bows and knives and a few well-placed guns. Tomorrow, all but one of them will escape but there will be no casualties. Tomorrow, Rose will call her source to let him know how they fared in what she will reveal is a diversion– and then the audience will hear Victoria’s voice on the other line, calling him to dinner. Jamie will hang up and join his other mother.)

 

Emma watches the dailies curled up beside Regina on the couch, a hand still playing with Regina’s new hair. “It’s so bouncy,” she says, cupping the bottom of the bob. “Vintage Madam Mayor for new ambiguously evil mastermind Victoria.” 

 

“If I’d known that this hair meant you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me, I might’ve trimmed it seasons ago,” Regina says wryly. 

 

Emma grins. “I like it long, too. I like…most things about you.” She winds her fingers through Regina’s hair again, watching her eyes fall shut and her head fall against Emma’s shoulder. 

 

“Just most?” Regina murmurs in a mock-whine, a hand creeping onto her thigh. 

 

Emma kisses the top of her head, insidious  _flingflingfling_ words from Cora creeping back into her mind, and she doesn’t dare retract it to  _I love everything about you_. “You do occasionally insult my intelligence–” 

 

“You like that about me.” 

 

“And you’re very demanding–” 

 

“You can take it.” 

 

“And you make me drive to set in the mornings before coffee–“ 

 

“Would you rather I drove and we crashed into the ocean?” Regina threatens sweetly, and Emma can’t resist tugging her around and kissing her, sliding onto her lap with hands still buried in her hair as Victoria snaps out orders onscreen. 

 

And it’s good. It doesn’t matter what Cora thinks about this–  _fling_ , not worth any part of Regina that she hasn’t already given, and certainly not worth the selfish desire that Emma refuses to even contemplate– and it doesn’t matter that Emma doesn’t have a response for her that isn’t acquiescence. She has Regina and they’ve lost too much time to lose even more over Emma’s insecurities.

 

They’re breaking for the midseason hiatus in a few days. The next episode is a rare light one for both of them– Victoria and Jamie have a tense dinner with Frollo and Victoria makes a visit to Charming’s cell in Frollo’s compound; and Rose is only in a few early scenes, joining Mulan for another wild diversion in town. The focus is on Snow and Charming as Snow supervises a secret digging project with the dwarves that will take them to the one structure that remains in town even now– the author’s mansion. 

 

Gold has shuffled their schedules around so that the main cast will all wrap before the break except for Mary Margaret and David. It’s probably only on Lacey’s behalf, but they’d all chipped in for flowers. Regina’s planned a vacation with her father’s family in Guaynabo after hurricane season this year, so they’ll be packing and leaving before filming officially ends.

 

“Bringing a pasty white  _gringa_  to meet my family,” Regina says, folding a tank top and setting it onto Emma’s pile with marked disgust. “They’re going to be merciless about my  _following in Daddy’s footsteps_  when they aren’t praying for my soul.” 

 

“It shouldn’t take more than thirty seconds before they realize that I’m nothing like Cora,” Emma says, sprawling out across the bed. “For one, I have much better abs.” She lets her shirt ride up ever-so-casually, watching Regina's eyes flicker to the bared skin and then back to the dresser.

 

"You'd be surprised," Regina says absently, not giving an inch. "Mother has a strict yoga regiment. Watching her bark out orders at our maids while in hummingbird position was a formative Saturday morning experience for me as a child." 

 

Emma googles and squints. "So...your parents probably had better sex than we ever will, basically." 

 

A pillow is thrown none-too-pleasantly at her face. "You know, bringing up my parents having sex while trying to seduce me? Not your best tactic."

 

"Who says I'm trying to seduce you?" Emma protests, flexing her biceps subtly. Regina gives her a dubious look. "If I were trying to seduce you, your pants would definitely be off right now. And I'm not seeing any progress in the pants removal department so–"

 

Regina pounces, artfully setting down a pile of blouses in the process. "Minimal pants for at least a couple of weeks," she promises, prowling up Emma's legs and pausing to trace her tongue along Emma's exposed abdomen. "And for the record? I am very, very proficient at yoga as well." 

 

"Yeah? How about–"

 

"You're about to make a terrible joke that will repulse me from sleeping with you for at least the duration of packing. I suggest you  _shut up_ ," Regina hums, kissing her hard, and Emma is only too happy to oblige. 

 

"Oh," she says suddenly, pulling back. "You said at least a couple of weeks. I can't do a couple of weeks. Just the one. One and a half, tops. I have a...thing." 

 

"A thing," Regina repeats, sliding off her to prop herself up on her elbow. "What kind of thing?" 

 

"It's nothing," she hedges, flushing a little. She hadn't planned to mention it to Regina at all, but she also hadn't expected to be invited to Regina and Henry's family vacation. "There's this charity dinner and I'm supposed to be the keynote speaker, I guess. Not a big deal. Just a minor children’s welfare organization in Boston. Cora wants me to keep my brand  _a little less rainbow_  these days, and this is..." She gestures at herself. "It's something I can talk about, too." 

 

Regina is listening to her silently, watching her face as she speaks, and her brow furrows. “Of course it is,” she says, resting a hand on Emma’s wrist. “And it isn’t  _nothing_ , it’s important. Do you– is there some reason why you wouldn’t want me there?” 

 

“No,” Emma says quickly. “No, I was just worried about…how it would look, you know? You there as my date?” It’s a tentative question that she really shouldn’t be asking. They don’t talk about that split between them, Emma out and Regina closeted, and Emma is determined to never pressure her otherwise.

 

Regina snorts, missing the gentle probe entirely. “Emma, you could be tongue-deep inside of me and the media would shrug it off as _HEA star Regina Mills sharing a drink with BFF Emma Swan._ I think we can take that risk.” Her voice softens. “I would love to hear what you have to say there.” 

 

“Okay,” Emma says, her dissatisfaction fading at the gentleness in Regina’s voice. She rolls over, vowing not to bring it up again. “Now, where were we?” 

 

* * *

 

**in which the gal pals are at it again.**

 

And so, a little under two weeks later, they’re back in the States and being dressed up and primped for the charity dinner. It had been exhilarating, being in a place where there had been few paparazzi and Regina’s closest family, at least, hadn’t questioned their relationship. They’d alternated between loving– no,  _comfortable_  couple and close friends seamlessly, and Emma yearns again for the simplicity of it the moment they’re out of the car together. 

 

They’re matching subtly again, Regina’s blazer trimmed at the edges with the same blue as Emma’s dress. The media will comment on it as a sign of their  _friendship_ , Emma’s sure, and the smile on her face is already fading into a false one at the thought. “Emma!” one reporter calls as she hurries in, her hand clasped in Regina’s. “And you brought your partner-in-crime.”

 

“We’ve seen the photos of you vacationing in Puerto Rico; tell us, what’s next for our favorite HEA gal pals?” one wants to know, smiling that familiarsmile. “Back to filming already or ready to take a break from each other?” He chuckles politely at his own joke, and Emma drops Regina’s hand with reluctance.

 

“Well, I’m planning on some quiet downtime until filming starts again,” she says, glancing over to Regina. “I don’t know about Regina.” 

 

“Quiet downtime sounds good,” Regina says, smiling uncomfortably back at her. 

 

And the point of her being here is to attract people to the event, to attract media attention and publicity, so Emma struggles through the conversation and talks a bit about her own personal relationship with organizations like this one before she gets the predictable, “And all your fans have been wondering, Emma, when are we going to see you with a romantic guest to one of these events?” 

 

She gets the question more often since she’d come out than she ever had before. Suddenly her personal life is everyone’s business, and she’s forced to demur and make excuses when she’s really contemplating punching the reporter in his smug face. “Oh, you know,” she says, her laugh too shrill. “Find me a woman who can put up with my hours and enough baggage to load the Titanic and I’ll take her anywhere.” 

 

“Have you had many relationships over the course of the show?” the reporter wants to know.

 

Regina says, her own voice artificially light, “I don’t think any of us have had much time for relationships over the course of the show. It’s exhausting, fulfilling work.” 

 

“Didn’t you date one of your costars?” the reporter says, struggling for the name. Emma takes advantage of this horrifying turn in the conversation to hurry toward the restroom, closing herself into a stall when a few women turn and stare at her.

 

She shuts her eyes, forcing any stray emotions to leak out through her even exhales instead of her tear ducts. It’s good. They’re good, in the public eye with matching outfits and  _gal pals_ and Regina’s false relationship with New Guy more legitimate than her real one with Emma. 

 

She’s spent so much time hiding that it’s a new kind of agony to start doing it all over again. She’d never thought of herself as being the kind of in-love where she has to shout it to all the world, but she’s also never liked pretending to be someone she isn’t. It’s why she’d gotten thrown out of so many foster homes– that determination to force every tiny, unlikable piece of her out in the open and demand that the people around her acknowledge it all. She’d learned to hide over the years to survive, learned to instead give away nothing to the people who matter; but now that she’s begun down the road of openness, it hurts just as acutely to cut it off again.

 

She breathes in. Breathes out. Remembers her makeup and the speech she’s supposed to be delivering in an hour. Hears familiar heels against the bathroom door and a pseudo-casual, “It’s empty in here now.” 

 

Emma twists the doorknob and leaves the stall, silently allowing Regina to fluff out her hair where it had been pressed against the door. “If I could wipe that name from every reporter’s memory and have them all run around like you calling him 'New Guy,’ I absolutely would,” Regina murmurs, stroking her cheek, and Emma lets out a wet laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want your big night to become  _that_.” 

 

Regina has completely misinterpreted what  _that_ is to Emma, but Emma forces a smile and says, “I just really hate that guy.”

 

“I know, darling.” Regina presses a chaste kiss to her lips, just enough that her plum lipstick is offset by Emma’s red. “He’s an ocean away, frantically auditioning for every role in  _Game of Thrones_ that doesn’t require him to play a six-year-old. Maybe those, too. And you’re here with me.” She tangles her hand in Emma’s and leads her from the bathroom again. 

 

She gets a hug from Regina when her speech is done, sits beside her and listens to her chatting with the politicians at their table like a pro. Emma can pick out the zeniths and nadirs of her voice, when she’s being genuine and when she’s faking it, when she likes someone and when she doesn’t. When Regina speaks to her, it’s with a voice that doesn’t command attention but invites it, warmth so rich within it that Emma can feel it seeping into all the raw cracks of her heart.

 

After, she scrolls through Twitter as photos and reports come in and it’s a little like the later days before Victory Rose had become canon, watching the enthusiasm and the disbelief.  _I call bullshit on this ‘friendship,’_ one tweet announces, and the quick, snide response comes, _VR being canon doesn’t mean real people are gonna fuck just because you’ve decided they should._

 

Emma reads that one aloud, naked in bed beside Regina, and Regina kisses her neck and snatches the phone out of her hand. “I’ve decided we should  _fuck_ ,” she says, the word sliding over her lips in a growl. “Any arguments on that beyond Twitter?”

 

There are other speculations, of course, and even stronger insistences that Regina is straight and they’re all projecting.  _Emma’s definitely in love with her though_ , someone says, and no one argues with that.

 

Emma gets a call one afternoon from a chipper reporter from something called  _The Forward Slash_. “We’re doing an article on RPF relationships, and I'd love to discuss the recent popularity of the Swan Queen tag on AO3 with you!” the reporter announces, and Emma isn’t sure if she’s more horrified at the question or at the fact that she understands it. “Would you say that it’s more inspired by your sexuality or by your canon relationship in the series?” 

 

“Who gave you this number?” Emma demands, vowing to fire Marian. Or at least yell at her. Maybe she’ll just scowl a lot and hope she’ll get the message. “Never call me again.” She slams the end button and bangs the phone on Regina’s coffee table for good measure.

 

Marian is not won over by her scowling. “I thought it was a valid question,” she says smugly when they’re out on the water the next day. Her boyfriend and Henry and Jamaal are taking turns steering. Regina is gone for the day, at a meeting with the other producers, and they’re taking advantage of a surprisingly warm day in December. “What do you think has brought on the sudden uptick in fanfiction about you and Regina?” 

 

“That we’re publicly dating and no one has noticed?” Emma suggests, masking her irritation. They’ve done a few more formal events together, and each one inevitably comes down to questions about the men in Regina’s life and the women in Emma’s. “I go to these events with Mary Margaret and no one questions it. I went to one premiere with Killian and the press spread rumors that we were dating until I came out.” 

 

“Your fans notice,” Marian says, eyeing her speculatively. “But even they don’t seem all that convinced that there’s a relationship going on. It’s benefitting you, isn’t it?” 

 

“Yes,” Emma says reluctantly. It’s benefitting Regina and that’s…that has to be enough for both of them. Even without Cora’s warning, she’d never stoop to forcing her partner to out herself because of her selfish desires.

 

Henry and Dwayne are still steering the boat but Jamaal is watching her, his dark eyes reading more than his mother’s do. “Yeah, it’s good,” Emma says more forcefully, and Jamaal’s eyes grow darker still.

 

* * *

 

**in which christmas ends early.**

 

Christmas is looming before them, and Regina’s already invited Emma to two events– a family party on Christmas Eve that Cora throws yearly (“There are maybe two cousins who come,” Regina says, rolling her eyes. “She just started this to rub it in Mary Margaret’s mother’s face and she never lets pesky things like death get in the way of  _that”_ ) and the  _real_ family party the next day that’ll just be the three of them. 

 

Emma’s never done much of anything on Christmas. She’s had enough screwed up Christmases behind her to consider celebrating it as an adult. She’d helped with charity gift drives after HEA and a soup kitchen in the afternoons, but most of it had been cocoa and holiday movies and a general avoidance of anything that has to do with  _feelings_ when she’s alone, anyway. Regina has invited in her in past years but she’d been quick to turn her down before now.

 

So this is new. She’s setting presents down under Regina's tree and sitting in a tastefully decorated house and making cookies with Henry and it’s the Christmas she’d dreamed of when she’d been a kid, picture-perfect and surrounded by the people she loves. 

 

Henry is dressed in a smart suit and tie, and Regina is wearing a tiny black dress that hugs her hips and bares just enough cleavage that Emma can’t stop staring. Emma is wearing a simple red dress, festive without too much effort, and she takes Regina’s elbow and leads her to the car. 

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Regina says in a low tone, ducking into the passenger’s seat. “Christmas has never gone by without Mother forcing me to socialize with every eligible bachelor in the room. We can drop Henry off and hide out in the yard for the whole party.” 

 

“No,” Emma says quickly. “No, I don’t want to skip it.” Cora will be furious with her if she interferes here, and Emma is determined not to be a burden on Regina. “I don’t care about who you talk to there.” 

 

It’s the right answer, and she knows it the moment Regina’s face settles with relief. Emma grins at her, doing her best to seem unbothered. 

 

Regina nips at her ear once before Henry climbs in. “We make it through Mother’s party and you get at least one present before bed,” she purrs, and Emma does a lot more swerving than usual in her rush to the Mills mansion. 

 

She’s been there only once in the past. Cora does nearly all her work from her office, and they’d been called there only after Victory Rose had become canon to go through media strategies. It’s as enormous as she remembers, towering over them as they step inside.

 

And it’s…better and worse than she’d imagined. Better, because she knows some of the other people present (“Marian has never been invited,” Regina murmurs in her ear when Mary Margaret enters. “I’m sure Mother didn't think she’d fit in with the color scheme”). Worse, because Cora seems focused on making sure that there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that Regina is single and searching.

 

“A bit less ‘Henry has two mommies,’ please,” she murmurs in Emma’s ear as she guides Regina to meet a colleague’s son. “I have an audition for you after Christmas. Emergency replacement for a pilot they’re filming in Storybrooke, so it should be easy enough to arrange.” 

 

It sounds like a bribe, doled out for her good behavior, and Emma’s eyes narrow. She heads to the drinks table and gulps down some very expensive wine as she watches Regina laugh and touch a man’s arm, flirting as easily as she does any role.

 

“Aren’t you worried?” Mary Margaret says, passing her a plate with a pastry on it. At Emma’s look, she shrugs. “You’re not getting drunk at a Cora party, Emma. She’ll never forgive you.” Emma eats the pastry. “Aren’t you worried?” Mary Margaret says again, watching as Regina is moved to the next man on Cora’s list.

 

“That Regina will enjoy the presence of a Cora-approved man more than me?” Emma says dubiously. “Not particularly.” She doesn’t worry about Regina’s faithfulness, even when it burns to see her putting on a show now. She aches out of longing and a dozen insecurities she won’t name, but not jealousy.

 

Not exactly, anyway.

 

“She isn’t a lesbian,” Mary Margaret says quickly. “I mean, she likes men, too. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” She hands Emma a scone and there’s only sincerity in her voice.

 

David has intercepted Cora’s line of men and is talking to Regina, Regina more animated now and more genuine, and Emma aches more and more and more. “I don’t think Regina preferring a man will be the problem, Mary Margaret.”

 

“But there is a problem,” Mary Margaret prods, still so earnest. And she might not be as comfortable with Emma's sexuality as she insists she is, but she’s still her  _friend_ and she still cares.

 

“I just…” Emma swallows more wine. “I don’t like that they get to talk to her and I have to pretend to just be the…I don’t know, designated driver.” 

 

“I don’t think anyone thinks you’re the designated driver.” Which is a dig, but  _whatever_. Emma pours herself some more. “Have you talked to Regina about this?” 

 

“Are you kidding? Talk to Regina? She’ll try to  _fix_ it. She’ll put her righteous anger before her whole fucking career and…oh, god, there’s a dance floor.” The live band is playing and the guests are pairing up, and David has a hand on Regina’s waist already, glaring at anyone who tries to get closer. Emma is grateful and seething with jealousy at once.

 

“Then let’s dance,” Mary Margaret says, a look of determination on her face, and Emma is just off-kilter enough to decide that it’s a good idea. Mary Margaret is hapless at this, attempting to take the lead, and Emma takes over and spins her around and around as they move closer to Regina and David. 

 

They’re getting curious stares and unfriendly ones, and someone says loudly, “Is that that lesbian girl?” to Cora. Emma knows judgment, knows the moment she’s been deemed  _not enough_ and _inappropriate_ , and Mary Margaret can laugh prettily and dismiss it all but it’s Emma at whom disapproving looks are leveled. 

 

Regina’s eyes are darkening as she watches the guests whisper, and Emma fears suddenly what she might do. She disentangles herself from Mary Margaret, stumbling a little and sensing the guests’ eyebrows raising over it, and she flees as quickly as she can to a quiet side room.

 

Regina follows, perhaps with more grace. She doesn’t miss a beat when she enters the room, tugging Emma into her embrace and rocking her to the music filtering in from the next room. “I only go home with you,” she breathes in Emma’s ear, a constant, empty reassurance by now. “We can hide away in here for the rest of the night. Dance with me.” 

 

They’ve done this before, locked in secret embraces and hidden away from the world. They’ve done nothing but this, because even the media’s credulity has limits. They slow-dance in a world of their own, and it’s always been enough for Emma until she wakes up one evening and she realizes that the walls of their world are looming tighter and tighter and they've been a prison instead.

 

She dances with Regina, her hand barely brushing against Regina’s skin as the other woman spins away and returns, the tips of their fingers millimeters apart. And the tiny world of their own is only the space around them as they dance, Emma in place and Regina floating away to puncture it each time Emma pulls her close. 

 

She’s tired and she’s tipsy and Regina is back in her arms now, hands pressed to her shoulders and forehead against hers, and Regina murmurs, “You know, when we danced together at Mary Margaret’s wedding, that was the moment I realized I was–“

 

Emma jerks away. “Stop,” she says, terrified of what might be said, and Regina falls silent. “Stop. Please, don’t–“ Oh,  _fuck_ , there’s a hitch in her voice and she can feel the tears threatening to fall. Regina is shaking her head slowly, her brow furrowing. “I need a break,” Emma says before she thinks about it, and relief washes over her. “From this. From…from us.”  

 

“ _What_?” Regina stares at her, aghast. “Emma, what the hell?” Her voice is sharp and surprised and the tears do fall now, slipping down her cheeks until she’s humiliated and frustrated and can’t find any of the right words. 

 

A hand cups her cheek, a thumb brushes them from her lips, and Regina says in a softer tone, “Emma, talk to me. What’s wrong? I thought we were…I swear, I’ll go to Mother right now and talk to her about the nonsense earlier. You said you were fine with it, but if you’ve changed your mind…” 

 

And Regina who protects her fandom with all that fire wouldn’t hesitate to go to any lengths to protect Emma, if Emma only says the word. Emma knows it. Emma is terrified of what Regina would do if Emma says the word. “It’s fine,” she lies. “It’s not why…we’ve just spent a lot of time together these past few months, and I need…I need space.” 

 

“Space?” Regina repeats, and now she sounds close to tears, too. “Emma,  _why_?” 

 

Emma backs up, twists around, and ducks back into the main room, her face blotchy and eyes blurred. “Emma!” Regina calls after her, heedless of the stares that they both attract, and Emma runs, runs, runs from the room and the falseness of a world that has never been theirs by choice.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is 10k. save me from myself, honestly. but i hope this wrapped it up okay, cheese and all. :) 
> 
> just an epilogue after this! if you follow me on twitter you know that i've been dealing with technical issues and typing on a dinosaur computer so review replies may be a bit late (for the last time, if my computer is finally repaired this week!).

**in which emma is not alone on christmas.**

 

Fifteen years ago, Emma had lain in a hospital bed with her head turned away as nurses had fussed over the baby she’d just birthed. She’d been offered the same thing, again and again–  _Are you sure you don’_ _t want to hold him?_ – as though they’d thought she’d change her mind, and every time she’d turned them down. 

 

She’d turned as the door had opened for the last time and seen a single glimpse of the baby; and she’d sobbed helplessly, hanging onto the rails of her bed and hating herself and longing to change her mind and raw with emotion at the knowledge that she never would.

 

She doesn’t cry like that anymore. She isn’t sentimental. She’s erected walls around her heart, filtered emotions through them until nothing could hurt her again so acutely. She’d done so well at it until Regina and Henry had charged into her life and she’d opened the door to her heart and invited them in.

 

She won’t cry again. She won’t sink into despair at her own decision. It’s too early to sleep, so she settles onto the couch and stares at the blank television screen with grim determination. Regina’s anguished cry is still echoing in her mind, and Emma heaves a sigh that emerges as a sob when her phone buzzes.

 

It isn’t Regina. It’s Mary Margaret, inviting her for Christmas dinner tomorrow.  _I spoke to Regina_ , the second line reads, and says nothing more. Emma can’t imagine it, can’t imagine Regina so alone or vulnerable that she’d confide in Mary Margaret, can’t imagine that  _Emma_ had done that to her–

 

Emma curls around herself and opens Twitter, desperate for a distraction from her misery. Instead, her notifications are nearly all Christmas wishes from her fans, most to both her and Regina, and most featuring art of the two of them in Santa hats or wearing antlers or–

 

She sees a Photoshopped picture of the three of them,  _Stone-Turner family,_ Victoria and Rose and Jamie gathered around a Christmas tree opening presents. The cry claws its way out of her throat, more of a protracted moan than a sob, and she buries her face in her knees and presses into them, desperate to avoid more tears.

 

This is what she’d wanted, right? No more hiding. No more fear of  _transgressing_. She has nothing to lose again–  _nothing, period,_ a voice in her reminds her nastily– even if the cost is… 

 

Her phone is buzzing again, but she’s afraid to look down and see Regina’s name, afraid that any response might be enough to cave. She won’t look down. She won’t…

 

An indeterminate amount of time later, there’s a knock at her door and then a key in the lock. She freezes, terrified and yearning at once, and she ventures in a voice still teetering on the precipice of tears, “Regina?” 

 

“No,” Marian says, stepping into the room. She looks fiercely unhappy, but her eyes lock with Emma’s and she softens at what she sees in them. “You’re not spending Christmas alone this year, Emma,” she says. “You’ll stay with us.” 

 

“I…Mary Margaret invited me for dinner tomorrow.” Emma stares at her, Marian’s face blurring and separating in front of her. “I thought Regina would get you in the breakup.” 

 

“You didn’t break up. You’re taking some space,” Marian says, stalking into her bedroom and peering through her closet. “But neither of us is going to let you sit here and wallow until tomorrow afternoon.”

 

“Regina called you.” 

 

“ _Yes_ , she called me.” Marian twists around to glare at Emma again. “She’s angry and she’s confused and I don’t know what you’re up to but it sounds like self-destructive bullshit, so maybe it’s time to cut that out and try communicating instead?”

 

“Marian, please.” Her head is pounding and she can’t say a word to Marian, either, because Marian will go straight to Regina with it. She just wants to…

 

She wants  _quiet_ , and Marian finally seems to understand that once she’s at the Alvarez-Lee home. Jamaal is sitting on the couch, playing a new video game, and Emma curls on the other end with a blanket and watches the character on the screen throw punches. Marian stays in the kitchen, ostensibly making cocoa. “Hi,” Jamaal says.

 

“Hi,” Emma says back.

 

“Mom thinks you’re being stupid. So does Henry,” Jamaal informs her, and Emma lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

 

“They’re probably right.” 

 

Jamaal shrugs. “I don’t know.” He stares at the screen, eyes flickering as he follows his avatar, and Emma holes down deeper into her blanket. “Regina’s being an asshole.” 

 

“Jamaal!” Emma rears back. “No, she isn’t. This is all on me. She’s been…she’s done everything she can–“ 

 

“Yeah? She won’t even come out for you,” he says, a note of resentment creeping into his voice. Emma stares at him and he shrugs, biting his lip. “She gave me this  _lecture_ about being careful in the industry and maybe she’s right but… I think she’s just scared,” he says, and it’s with all the fire of a child taking a hero off her pedestal. “ _You_ did it.” 

 

“I was stupid and reckless, Jamaal,” Emma says, alarmed. “I have one of the most powerful women in the industry supporting me and I have to do…basically whatever she wants or I’ll lose everything. You can’t count on that.” 

 

“I could figure something out,” Jamaal says, scowling. “I bet Shondaland would take me. I can sing. I’ll do  _Hamilton_  on Broadway. Go for the EGOT.” He seems somewhere between morose and reckless, driven to take chances that he’s much too young to decide now. 

 

Emma hastily pulls him off his tangent. “And coming out can’t be about someone else! It’s not like…getting a tattoo with someone’s name on it. It isn’t something you can ever take back in our industry. It’s a personal decision that will affect the rest of your life, and no one has the right to ask it of you.” 

 

Jamaal slouches sullenly into the couch. “She must know that you want it. I’m sixteen and not dating you and  _I_  know it.”

 

“You’re thinking about it. Regina  _isn’t_. Regina hasn’t…” Emma hesitates, searching for the right words. “Regina’s only public relationship _ever_ was the PR one that her mom strong-armed her into a couple of years ago. And this relationship has other risks. I won’t ruin her career. I won’t let her ruin her career.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes again, suddenly very tired. “I just…I got so tired of lying.” 

 

“Yeah,” Jamaal says, putting the controller down so he can squirm over to her, and she rests an arm around his shoulder. “Yeah, I know.” 

 

She kisses his temple, and he says, “You know I grew up kind of…wanting to be Regina, I guess. I wanted to be an actor like her and I wanted to be so  _smart_ and  _strong_ and– Mom used to joke that she was my dad, back when I was little. I thought it was a dream come true when Regina became my onscreen mom.” 

 

He’s taller than her now and he has to curl himself up before he can burrow himself in her embrace. “But I got two moms. The best onscreen moms,” he says, and Emma swallows a lump in her throat. “I’m not stupid. I know Cora doesn’t want to get rid of me because of my  _age_. 6B could have been two years later, not six months later.” Emma winces. Jamaal stares at the screen again. “But I knew you’d both take care of me. And Regina would take care of you the same way.” 

 

“I know,” Emma whispers. “I know she would. But this is me taking care of her, okay? Even if she doesn’t know it. Even if she hates me for it.” 

 

“Maybe Mom is right. You  _are_ beingstupid,” Jamaal says, and Emma pats his shoulder and laughs shakily with him.

 

A car door slams outside, and he shifts to peer out the window behind them. “I’ll be right back,” he says swiftly, and Emma watches through the window as Regina steps out of the car, elbows sharp points as she wraps her arms around herself. She pauses as Jamaal strides down the walk. At sixteen, he’s already towering over her, and his movements are stiff and closed off.

 

Regina takes another step forward, eyes red and lips moving swiftly. Emma can imagine how Regina must have loomed tall in Jamaal’s mind, towering above everyone else in his life– but tonight she’s small and fragile, her strength coiled taut under a brittle shell. Jamaal’s expression shifts from hostile to uncertain, and Emma’s quietly relieved when he takes a shaky step forward and wraps her in his arms. 

 

Regina holds onto him tightly, her words soundless from Emma’s vantage point, and her eyes flicker to the window while still in his embrace. Emma can’t pull away in time and their eyes lock, Regina’s pools of hurt and helplessness and Emma’s own betraying too much pain for this to be an innocent break.

 

She slides back down the couch, too heavy for her own limbs to carry her. Jamaal returns a few minutes later, carrying a pile of presents–  _her_ presents– in his arms. “She didn’t think you’d want to see her,” he says, and there’s less anger in his voice now. “But she thought you should have them under the tree. She really doesn’t know, does she?” 

 

“It’s my problem. It isn’t hers,” Emma says, mustering up all the force she can manage behind it. “It’s all on me.” 

 

They open their presents together in the morning. Regina has given her a diamond necklace, a custom-made swan with a rose at its heart, and Emma takes a photo of it and uploads it to Twitter.  _Merry Christmas,_ she tweets, a message that will go out to seven hundred thousand followers and is meant for only one.

 

Regina does not favorite the tweet.

 

* * *

 

**in which the tension cracks (but doesn’t break).**

 

The fans notice.

 

There’s little that the fans  _don’t_ notice, but someone’s picked up the gossip from Cora’s party and someone else cries foul at the Christmas selfie that Emma posts with Jamaal and the tweets of  _Where’s Regina?_ begin to shift after a few days into  _Emma’s in the doghouse._

 

Because Regina’s angry. Regina’s sad and Regina’s angry and Emma’s been desperately trying to pretend that nothing has changed for the fans. She retweets Regina’s tweets and replies to them and gets nothing in response. She posts Throwback Thursday photos of them that they’ve never put online before, and she makes sure in every selfie that Regina can see the necklace hanging under her shirt.

 

The fandom speculates on the necklace and who’d given it to her–  _#SwanQueen is dead_ , one notes.  _#SwanQueen is REAL haven’t you seen Regina’s gay panic??_ another retorts. Some of them are pretty sure that Emma deserves Regina’s cold shoulder and others are positive that this is all on Regina, no exceptions. They’re lining up and taking sides and it’s gotten angrier than it’s ever been between their fans, splitting them like it never has before.

 

Regina tweets  _Lots of #VictoryRose goodness coming your way in March!_ which means that she’s seen the tweets, too, and Emma sighs in frustration and doesn’t retweet that one.

 

They have three weeks between Christmas and when filming resumes, and they’re long and lonely and very empty. Emma goes out with Mary Margaret and keeps her distance from Marian and has Henry over for dinner when she can. “You have to get married to be divorced, you know,” Henry mutters when she drops him off after. “I’m too old for this bullshit.” 

 

“You’re not too old for your mom to kick your ass for talking like that,” Emma warns him, and he makes a face at her and runs into the house. 

 

Her texting conversations with Regina are oddly formal and very brief.  _Okay if I take Henry out tonight?_

 

 _School night. Make sure he does his homework._ This is…not a fight, exactly, but not a breakup either. Emma still films Cora's pilot for a show where she’s the token woman in an ensemble, a one-note character that she’s already bored with. Emma still wears Regina’s necklace and sends her flowers when she hears about an LGBT advocacy award she’s getting. 

 

Regina goes to the event alone, laughing off questions about where Emma is, and there’s a loneliness lurking in her eyes. She’s artfully wound one of Emma's flowers into her hair, and Emma likes the photo on Instagram and says nothing in response.

 

It’s as though they’re sending each other messages in plain sight, talking through the least personal medium they have. Emma doesn’t think she can see Regina right now without breaking, but she can post a photo of herself in her character's red leather jacket and tack on their koi-on-a-flagpole emoji beside it. Regina won’t reply to her tweets, but she’ll casually mention watching Emma’s favorite (Regina’s least favorite) comedy. They’re angry and lonely but they aren’t ready to give up on each other just yet, even if they can’t say so directly.

 

The fans follow their back-and-forth and send them demanding tweets, bewildered by the emoji and even more bewildered by what appear to be a series of non-sequiturs from them.

 

And it’s reassuring right up until the day that Emma’s due to return to set.

 

She’s a mess of nerves, changing in and out of clothing she probably won’t even see Regina while wearing, and she’s a half hour early to hair and makeup. Regina sweeps in several minutes later, freezing at the door when she sees Emma, and Emma manages a wan smile. “Hi.” 

 

The makeup artists are all gossips, and so they sit side-by-side and sneak glances at each other instead of discussing anything too consequential. “Uh. How’d Henry do on that big midterm?” 

 

“Well, I think. He was…he did well.” They lapse back into silence. Emma plays with her necklace, uncomfortable, and Regina says, “Nice necklace,” with the ghost of a smile on her face.

 

“Thanks. It was a gift from a fan,” Emma demurs. 

 

Regina smirks. “Those diamonds are real. They must have been very fond of you.”

 

It’s flirty and tentative and it’s smoke and mirrors all over again, secrets hidden behind secrets in their tiny little world. Emma longs for it and fears falling into it again, and she remains silent. Regina sighs to herself and doesn’t say a word, her face setting into something dark and irritable.

 

They film two scenes together this episode, a confrontation between Victoria’s troops and Rose that’s fraught with tension and hostility, and it’s easy to call on those emotions again. Emma flees to her trailer at the end of their filming, relieved and miserable to see that they won’t overlap at all next episode.

 

She gets the script to the fifth episode and her mouth goes dry. There’s no way that she can avoid Regina for this one.

 

The dwarves have dug below the town and have finally made it to the Author’s mansion, and Rose leads the townspeople into the house while Victoria’s men swoop in to stop them. The first half of the episode is all action, fighting scenes and Rose desperately searching for what it is that they’d broken in for.

 

Emma films her early scenes with trepidation, knowing what’s to come. Rose finds a box in the mansion and pockets it, taking off through a window and into the woods. A few officers set after her and Victoria shouts, “ _Stay back! She’s mine!_ ” and hurtles into the woods before anyone can follow.

 

Rose runs, and Victoria pursues her. Rose hasn’t turned around yet, ostensibly doesn’t even know who’s after her, and she winds through trees with expert skill after months of living in the woods. Victoria flicks a finger, her lessons with Esmeralda on harnessing magic in the real world paying off; and onscreen, a root will leap from the ground and wind around Rose’s ankle.

 

Rose trips and falls on her face. “ _Victoria?_ ” she says, twisting around, and there’s a moment between them– Victoria looming over her and Rose staring up at her– where the audience will be waiting with bated breath.

 

And then Rose says, “ _About time_ ,” the tree root recedes into the ground so she can stand, and Rose wraps her arms around Victoria’s neck and kisses her soundly.

 

And Emma and Regina fall out of character.

 

Not entirely. They’ve gotten good at this; at balancing their own emotions with Rose and Victoria’s and finding enough of both character and self that it still emerges as authentic. They’d done it with kisses in 5A and with the desperate, charged reunions they’d had in Frollo’s prison cells. 

 

But tonight…it’s been so long since Regina’s been in her arms. It’s been so long since she’d last kissed her, and Emma yearns for her so acutely that she can’t stop herself from intensifying the kiss, from pulling Regina closer and screwing up the camera angle and breathing Regina’s name against her lips. Regina molds herself against Emma, trembling in her embrace.

 

“Cut!” the director calls, and Emma stumbles away on automatic, sucking in a breath and releasing it. “Let’s try the angle again,” he says, and Emma and Regina both nod vigorously and don’t look at each other.

 

When Rose looks at Victoria, it’s with unabashed adoration that is returned to her, and Emma is relieved to hide behind their characters after that kiss. “ _You got it_ ,” Victoria breathes, opening the box that Rose offers her. They’ve moved to Rose’s Bug and Rose is driving them away from the empty town. 

 

“ _Yep. Just an Author's pen. No ink._ ” Rose swallows, eyes on the road and Victoria’s hand stroking her thigh. They can’t seem to stop touching each other, subtle intimacies after an agonizing separation. “ _If we give this one to Jamie, we’ll need Dark Savior blood again. Esmeralda has contacts she thinks have enough magic to restore–_ “

 

“ _No,_ ” Victoria says forcefully. “ _You won’t become the Dark One again. You’ve fought too long to be taken over by it._ ” 

 

“ _It’s the only way._ ” They argue about Rose’s determination to provide the ink; about Victoria’s determination to go back undercover with Frollo to save the captives taken tonight; about leaving Jamie in a safe place without either of them. They argue all the way to Victoria’s apartment, outside Frollo’s compound, where Jamie is waiting with Esmeralda and a suitcase.

 

“ _You really did it_ ,” he says, staring at the pen. “ _Now we can save– everything, Moms_.” 

 

There’s another kiss at the end of the scene, a goodbye before Victoria and Rose are separated again, and it’s fraught with anxious emotion and love. Emma is driven back to her studio with Jamaal beside her, her skin on fire with renewed longing.

 

She doesn’t go to her trailer. Instead, her feet lead her to Regina’s, and Regina is kissing her before she makes it through the doorway. Emma kisses her back, hands tangling in her hair and scraping down her back and touching every last bit of her– fingers brushing along her cheekbone, lips on her closed eyelids, a palm cupping her ass; hands drifting up her spine and winding into Regina’s hands and thumbing her nipples over her clothes and stroking hair out of her face so Emma can kiss her forehead– desperate for everything she’s missed. Regina breathes out a sighed, “Emma,” and sits back on her sofa, pulling Emma down to her. 

 

Instead, Emma sinks onto the floor between her legs, eyes wide and exposed, and Regina lifts Emma's knuckles to her lips and kisses them. “I missed you,” Emma manages, her voice distant and fragile to her ears. “I miss you.”

 

“Talk to me,” Regina pleads in the same tone as she had at Cora’s party. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

 

Emma kisses her abdomen instead, kisses a trail down over her pants to her center, and Regina gazes at her with troubled eyes and doesn’t speak again until they’re stumbling back into Emma’s apartment together, stumbling into bed and communicating only in kisses and moans and sighs.

 

Regina holds onto her like Emma might shatter and looks at her like she’s waiting for Emma's next blow. She doesn’t smile as much now as she did before. She searches Emma’s face for answers and there’s a distance between them when she doesn’t get them; but she also cradles Emma’s face in her hands and kisses her as though she’s  _precious,_ and her fingers rarely leave Emma’s skin.

 

( _Talk to me,_ she whispers into her shoulder as Emma moves inside her, in-out-in-out-in-out until she’s gasping for breath and can’t seem to find the words again. She sobs when she comes, sobs like she’s been gifted a curse worth preserving, and Emma’s fingers dance across her back and never dare to rest. 

 

 _Tell me why_ , she pleads when she believes Emma is asleep. Years in group homes have taught Emma how to pretend, even breathing and half-limp hands and tiny movements. Even Regina can’t see through them– or maybe she can. Maybe she asks when they’re both pretending. She curves her fingers into Emma’s back and wriggles closer into her embrace.

 

 _Please–_  she begins when she finally pulls away. Emma keeps her eyes closed and the tears leak out from beneath them. There are warm fingers at her neck, and her necklace is carefully undone. For a moment, Emma’s afraid that Regina will take it back. But it’s placed gently on the night table instead, and a comforter is pulled over Emma’s body and a kiss placed to her forehead.)

 

“Regina–“ Emma begins as she hears her footsteps retreating, a last breath of _don’t leave, we can work this out, we can_ – The footsteps pause.

 

Emma waits in miserable silence, at a loss for the right things to say, and Regina finally walks away again.

 

* * *

 

**in which nothing is given, nothing gone.**

 

Episode Five ends with Frollo confronting Victoria and Rose arriving at the last minute with her gun pointed at him. “ _I thought you might need backup,_ ” she pants as they flee the compound. “ _Will you come with us now_?” 

 

And thus begins a multi-episode Stone-Turner family adventure, Jamaal and Victoria and Rose traveling across the world to meet up with a teenaged mechanic from Esmeralda’s network. “ _This realm is the realm where all stories are written,_ ” Esmeralda says. “ _The Land Without Magic is the land where all Authors have been born. And there is a great library in a land beneath it where that ultimate power– beyond magic, beyond fairytales– still endures._ ” 

 

The girl takes them under the sea to Atlantis, setting Jamie up in the library there. The Victory Rose fans have already seen the spoilers for the arc and are ecstatic about _#VictoryRoseDoesAtlantis_. Emma and Regina are quietly miserable.

 

The first day after the kiss is tense and awkward, Regina retreating to her fury and Emma to discomfort and silence. Regina doesn’t talk to her on set beyond their quick rehearsals, and during _those_ , she’s snippy and obnoxious.

 

“Must you do everything wrong?” Regina demands when they’re in her trailer, pacing as they rehearse their scenes for the next episode. Emma is fed up enough that she surges forward and kisses her, and Regina holds her with aching affection. They don’t fight nearly as viciously for the rest of that day, though it’s back with a vengeance in the morning.

 

In Episode Eight, the Atlanteans gift them shards of blue crystal magic that will be enough to briefly restore Rose to the Dark One. Victoria is stubbornly opposed to the plan and insists on being the only one exposed to Dark Rose.

 

It’s an excuse for both Regina and Emma to chew through their stress and frustration. Emma taking on Rose’s caustic threats and insults. “ _Did you think our love was going to be enough to stop me?_ ” she sneers, and feels sick as Regina– Victoria– reels backward. “ _Did you think I’d cooperate because it’s you? You overestimate yourself.”_

She stalks forward, eyes dark, and hurls Victoria against the wall, twitching her hands to strangle her. “ _Rose_ ,” Victoria chokes out, and Rose drops her hold as though she’s been burned.

 

Victoria rises, not an ounce of fear on her face. “ _You think you can play with the big girls?”_ she sneers in a singsong tone. _“Fine. But our son needs your help and he always comes first._ ”

 

Dark Rose folds, glaring at Victoria as she puts a knife to her skin and lets the blood drip into a vial. After, Victoria strokes her thumb over the wound, enough magic within her from the Atlanteans to seal it without a scar, and the scene is supposed to end there.

 

Instead, Emma surrenders to an urge that is partially Rose’s, partially her own; and she leans into Victoria’s embrace and kisses her, careful to keep the angles intact and not to lose her character. Regina plays along, an improvisation that the director will keep; and they part, gazing into each other’s eyes until there’s a call of “Cut!” and they can’t look at each other at all anymore.

 

Victoria and Rose don’t stay to help Jamie write. They say hasty goodbyes to him and Esmeralda and then Regina and Emma are off for a full week after a strenuous few episodes. 

 

 _Strenuous_. They’ve never been quite this emotionally exhausting before. Emma had survived Dark Rose by leaning heavily on Regina, and now, instead, they’re…

 

They’re even tenser than before. Everyone knows that they’re “fighting” by now, if only from the way that tender scenes end and they’re suddenly springing apart like they’d been burned. Rose and Victoria are inseparable but Emma and Regina are tense and strained. “Whatever’s going on with you two, get it under control,” Gold orders them. “Haven’t you learned by now how to be professional during your little lovers’ spats?”

 

They’re both abashed at the reprimand. Emma kisses Regina in her trailer again and Regina puts her hands up Emma’s shirt and they’re back to studiously ignoring each other when they’re offscreen. Gold throws up his hands and reminds them to do their jobs. Emma tweets a photo of her television that evening captioned _night in with Emma_ and only the more astute fans notice two Regina Mills films in the stack of DVDs beside the screen.

 

Online, it’s easier to pretend that this is all casual, secret affection concealed within their tweets when they can’t meet each other’s eyes in person. The question of the necklace’s origin remains the great mystery of the fandom, and Emma rolls her eyes and is irritated with all the speculation for the first time in a while.

 

She talks to some fans on set who watch her in silence and then venture, “We really love your necklace. Is there a place where we could buy one like it online?” 

 

“Oh,” she says, touching it and masking her annoyance. “It was actually a gift. From a…friend.” Three fans raise their right eyebrows in perfect unison. “I’m sure someone’s put it on Etsy by now.”

 

The fans don’t ask about her love life in person, at least, though they’re no quieter online. She nearly writes some passive-aggressive tweets, but they all feel dishonest to her. She isn’t lying anymore. That’s the sole reason to pay the price that is a world without Regina. _No more lying_.

 

The season continues with the final battle– each episode a new wrench in their plans, and each episode with familiar faces returning to help or hinder. The show has begun to air again and a disturbing little subset of Frollo/Victoria shippers crop up. Victory Rose shippers remain staunch.  _They didn’t break up forever OFFSCREEN,_ one insists.  _And not to hook Victoria up with Frollo!_

 

The old guard of Rose Captain shippers come out of hibernation, smug at a relationship they claim lasted only half a season. The ship wars are back, and Emma watches them unfold with a growing headache. Regina retweets Victory Rose fanart and talks in interviews about what a despicable character Frollo is. 

 

Killian is set to return for the finale, and when the fans hear the news, the fandom fractures a little more. Emma knows it’s just for an early scene– a flashback to Neverland that will give the shippers their fanservice for staying around for this long– but they’re forbidden to say anything. 

 

Victory Rose fandom's resolve is beginning to falter. “They’re afraid that the rug is going to be pulled right out from under them when they least expect it,” Emma says during a rare moment of peace between them.

 

“Imagine that,” Regina says coolly, and Emma flinches and falls silent.

 

* * *

 

**in which a fan favorite returns.**

 

The final week of filming is exhausting and exhilarating. They’ve never had such a large crowd of fans on set, watching with bated breath for spoilers. “Is Killian here? Is Killian here?” Every day it’s the same question and a sidelong glance at Emma. Even Victory Rose fans are asking it now, anxious about his return.

 

Gold, in a rare move, orders Killian to make an appearance on location to greet the fans. They’re meant to film in studio that day, and Emma grits her teeth and lets Killian sling an arm around her shoulder and stroll out to the fans hovering outside the studio.

 

“So much resentment, love,” he purrs in her ear. “You seem to have bounced back from the rumors quite nicely. All I did was make you your best self.” 

 

“You’re a vile piece of shit,” Emma says sweetly, grinning at him for their audience. There’s a roar of cheers from the crowd as they approach, less than she’d expected. Rose Captain fandom has moved on, even if quite a few remain. 

 

Victory Rose shippers watch her warily again, but she’s tight-lipped about the Rose Captain in the finale and won’t reassure anyone. “Is it…is it good?” one of them ventures. She’s been on set enough and been to enough cons that Emma recognizes her face. “Are you happy with the finale?”

 

“I am,” Emma says truthfully. “I’m really excited for you to see it.”

 

“And you love Victory Rose,” the fan says, studying her as though Emma might give her the answers she wants. “But you’ve also said you loved Rose Captain. Which do you like better?” She looks horrified at her own bravado.

 

Emma winks at her. “Ask me again when I’m not a cog in the PR machine, okay?” The girl looks startled, then pleased. Emma turns back to the other fans, posing with Killian for photos and signing autographs and feeling as helpless as she had back when she’d been forced to promote Rose Captain and pretend Victory Rose didn’t exist.

 

“Emma, dear,” says a voice from behind her, and Emma exhales, relieved and afraid of what Regina might do. Of course. No matter how furious Regina is with her, she’s still going to prioritize comforting their frightened fans and defying Cora. “Your lunch is here,” Regina says, a hand resting possessively on her wrist. One fan lets out a strangled sound and claps a hand over her mouth.

 

The rest of the fans gape at them. Emma remembers that the fans are not the media and are in fact scholars of subtext by now. Regina doesn’t seem to notice or care, prowling around behind her and tossing Killian a dirty look. “Oh. I see you’re here.” 

 

The fans have fallen silent, watching the interplay between them. Killian smirks. It’s weaker than usual. “Regina. Always a pleasure.” 

 

“Jones. I see they’ve let you out on parole.” Regina stalks away, still gripping Emma’s wrist. Emma follows readily.

 

The play-by-play of that encounter online comes in two versions. 

 

_And YET AGAIN, Regina continues to treat Emma like her personal doormat. It’s been months since the last time I bothered showing up for filming and she was all over her. Especially when she saw how cozy Emma and Killian were! Couldn’t we just have this one day without Regina ruining our fun? (Emma is totally not a lesbian. You should have seen the way she eyed Killian. HEART EYES, everyone! I wonder if they orchestrated the whole thing so they could keep the relationship secret after the writers fucked Killian over. Do you think the necklace was from him?) #SaveEmma_

 

_Omg, it was amazing to watch them in action. Killian was going on and on about Rose Captain like it hasn’t been over for forever and Regina just swept in and rescued Emma from the whole thing. They were getting lunch together :) Regina called her dear :) I’ve never seen anyone as hopelessly in love as Emma when she looks at Regina :) It’s like her whole face lights up and omg they basically walked away holding hands!!!!_

 

“I like the first one,” Regina says, nipping at her neck. “The dangerously attractive villain of the story, carrying the poor, innocent ingénue away from subpar men to seduce her to my ways.” 

 

“Ingénue?” Emma says dubiously. They’ve been hiding out in Regina’s trailer while Killian remains outside. They haven’t done much talking. They’re not good at talking anymore, just lips on skin that speak volumes and guarantee nothing that lasts. Emma twists around, shoving Regina back, and kisses her hard enough to send her stumbling backward. “Ingénue?” she repeats, a hard knuckle pressed to Regina’s clit.

 

Regina’s eyes have dilated considerably. She slides a hand under the tank top that is Emma’s Neverland costume, a warm palm splayed across Emma’s abdomen. “Maybe an ingénue trained well,” she growls, and abruptly, she’s wrapping her legs around Emma so Emma stumbles back against the trailer wall, knocking over a vase from the kitchen counter in the process, lips molded to Regina’s as she moves. 

 

She hoists Regina onto the counter and spreads her legs apart, very intent on taking the lead in this; but after, it’s Regina who rests a hand on Emma’s cheek and watches her silently, eyes warm and very somber. 

 

“Regina?” Emma ventures. Regina doesn’t answer. Her gaze is fixed on Emma’s, boring into her with affection and pain and anger and a dozen emotions Emma can’t name. The tension between them is back, the air charged, and Emma tries to say– something. Something right. “Please don’t look at me like that.” 

 

“Like that?” Regina repeats. 

 

“Like you’re afraid I’m going to run away again. This isn’t over. I’m just not ready…” There’s so much fear in Regina’s eyes and Emma can’t bear it, can’t bear being a reason why someone as tireless and unstoppable as Regina is afraid. Regina is a fighter– never stops, hasn’t even stopped now, has nearly come to blows with Cora last week when Victoria had been scripted to dismiss the stable boy as her first true love ( _Bisexuality, Mother. It isn’t overly complicated for the viewers to follow,_ and she’d left the office with her head held high)– and Emma hates herself for making Regina so hesitant and fearful with her.  “This isn’t over,” she whispers, and it’s a weak comfort.

 

But Regina stares at her, deer-in-headlights frozen at Emma’s words, and she shakes her head. “Emma.” It escapes like a breath. “Please,” she says, her eyes pleading. “Let’s not talk about this.” 

 

And Regina’s been the one pushing her to talk until now; and Emma feels as though something else has slipped out of her grasp with this refusal, as though she’s lost the last thread she’d had to make this right. “Sure,” she says, and slumps in defeat. 

 

Regina tugs her closer, pulls her against her so Emma’s head is resting against her breast and Regina can press kisses to her hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, but she remains reticent, the both of them trapped in their own minds and giving nothing away.

 

* * *

 

**in which some tough truths are dealt out.**

 

Their last day on set is surprisingly anticlimactic. They film the final scene at Victoria’s mansion and then a few of them go out for dinner. There’s a formal finale party scheduled when the episode airs, but for now, it’s most of the main cast gathered together and talking about the future.

 

“I have a few guest roles lined up for next year, but I think we’re mostly going to take some time off together,” Mary Margaret says, beaming at David. “Vacation with the little guy somewhere far from Storybrooke.”

 

Ruby is the only one who has a new steady role lined up, but everyone else seems to have  _something_. Jamaal has snagged a guest stint on one of the new Star Wars shows, Lacey is doing independent movies, and Regina’s already working with Cora on a new show. “I filmed a pilot, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to be picked up,” Emma admits.

 

“I’m sure Cora will order you somewhere,” Lacey says, snickering into her drink. Emma kicks her under the table. She puts up a hand, mock apologetic. “Yeah, yeah. You know, I’ve always thought you’d fit better in comedy than drama.” 

 

“Don’t tell Cora,” Emma warns them. “She wants me to do serious political stuff. I think she might choose to kill me instead of deal with  _that_ humiliation.” 

 

Regina refuses to look at her, but her voice is sharp and protective. “You don’t have to do what she tells you to. You’re not her lackey,” she says, and spares a pointed glare at Lacey. “Or dating her.”

 

Lacey rolls her eyes. “No, you're dating her daughter. Same difference.” 

 

Regina’s hands stiffen around her fork and knife. Mary Margaret says over-loud, “What? That’s ridiculous! Of course she isn’t!”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ruby says, straight-faced. “Of course not.” She and Lacey exchange sly glances. “I have no idea where that came from.” 

 

A rictus grin has taken possession of Regina’s face, and Emma imagines that there’s a matching one on her own. “Guys,” she says. “Please.” Ruby falls silent, abashed. “Let’s…not joke about that, okay?” 

 

Regina excuses herself abruptly from the table and Emma hurries after her, a hand hovering at her back. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I can talk to them. They won’t–“ 

 

“It’s fine.” Regina says. "It doesn't...it's fine." But her fingers betray her, pressed together in a fist so tightly that she's white-knuckled from the strain.

 

They make it outside, the air cold and sharp without their coats, and Emma rubs her hands against Regina’s shivering ones. Regina doesn’t pull away. “I love you,” Emma whispers. “With all my heart, I love you. And I know you’re angry–“

 

“I’m tired, Emma,” Regina murmurs, and Emma kisses her forehead and kisses the tip of her nose and kisses her lips until she’s just as weary of pulling away and there are stray tears streaking Regina’s face. “I know I can’t…I can’t be whoever you want me to be–“

 

“No,” Emma says, horrified. “No, I don’t want you to be…you’re perfect,” she says fervently and kisses her again. “I never wanted you to feel–“ She’s been selfish and she knows it, incapable of staying away from Regina but still so afraid of returning to suffocation and the prison that their relationship has become. Regina watches her, eyes wet and vulnerable and angry about both those details.

 

And Emma surrenders again, helpless in the face of Regina’s tears. “Please,” she whispers. “Please, take me home.”

 

Regina misunderstands– or maybe understands perfectly, because she goes and collects their coats while Emma shivers outside and drives them to her house. Emma doesn’t protest, not when Regina leads her upstairs and locks the door and makes love to her until Emma can’t dream of leaving again.

 

It’s been Regina who’s left all the times since Christmas. Emma doesn’t know if she’s capable of doing it ever again. She curls up in bed beside Regina and when she does leave it, it’s only because she hears the sound of a door opening downstairs and voice calling, “Mom? Mom!”

 

She tugs on a pair of jeans she’d left at Regina’s and one of the tees Regina swears she doesn’t own and tiptoes downstairs to meet Henry. “Regina’s asleep,” she says, fiddling with the bottom of her shirt. “She was tired after filming so I–“

 

“Right. Sure.” Henry looks unimpressed. “Well, I’m here now. Don’t let us keep you from going back to your apartment.”

 

The hostility isn’t exactly new, but it’s never been this bad before. Emma looks at Henry askance. “Henry…” They haven’t spent much time together while she’s been filming, and Emma had dismissed his coolness as irritation over that. “Is everything okay?”

 

Henry shrugs, turning away from her. “I don’t like having to pretend that I’m okay with you when you hurt my mom.” His words are quick and uncomfortable, released like a pent-up admission he’s been afraid to reveal.

 

“Okay,” Emma says, taken aback. “Do you…Do you want me to go back upstairs? Or leave the house?”

 

“I don’t care. I just want you _away_ ,” Henry says, and Emma watches his shoulders shaking and his hands clenching into fists and releasing. He can’t handle this conflict, being loyal to only one of them when he needs them both, and Emma steps toward him and guides him to the couch.

 

He crumples against her, suddenly so vulnerable and needy that she strokes his hair and kisses the top of his head as he sobs, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” into her shoulder. “I _hate_ you,” he gasps out, and he seems so young, small enough to still fit into her arms.

 

“I love you, Henry,” she whispers, and he cries harder, furious tears as he clings to her and she holds him tightly. “I love you both so much.”

 

“I was so _stupid_ ,” he chokes. “I thought we were going to be a _family_. I was going to…I was going to call you Ma and you would live here and we’d–”

 

She releases him abruptly, eyes wide. “Henry, _no_.”

 

“Why the hell not?” he demands, face still streaked with tears. He’s a carbon copy of his adoptive mother, genetics be damned, and Emma’s heart wrenches. “Was it so terrible that you had to _abandon_ us and–“

 

“I never wanted to–!” Her voice is rising and she cuts it short, pushes aside escalating hysteria and tries again. “Henry, none of this is _permanent_. I’m not…I lived in your house. I dated your mother– maybe ten people in the world knew about it. You think there was any future in that?” she demands. “You think I was ever meant to be your family?”

 

It’s the one fear that had superseded everything else, that had become so tied to the lies and secrecy that she’d been afraid to vocalize it until now. She’s never mattered as anything more than a dirty little secret, easily discarded when her time runs out. _My daughter will never be foolish enough to sabotage her career for a fling_ , Cora had said, and she’d been _right_.

 

“I don’t care,” Henry says fiercely. “That doesn’t matter to us.” 

 

“Not to you. Not to you.” She’s blinking back angry tears again for the first time since that last night with Regina, shaking off insecurities that Cora had planted months ago. “You think your mom plans to keep me as a second mother, hidden away from the world? This is– this is a fling. I don’t know. This is temporary. This is… _so_ not your business. But you can’t start treating me like something that Regina doesn’t want me to be.” 

 

Henry shakes his head. “You’re wrong. Mom  _loves_ you. Mom cried herself to sleep for weeks.” 

 

Emma remembers an ill-fated admission she’d cut off, a honeymoon period that had gone from a dream to being buried alive. “Henry,” she says weakly. “I won’t leave you. I can be your…Aunt Emma, I guess. Your friend. But I’m never going to be your  _Ma_. You can’t force a family.” 

 

She scrubs furiously at her eyes, forcing away the tears that had sprung up at her admission. Henry’s jaw is set and the smile is gone from his eyes, and he turns around and storms upstairs. Emma sinks back against the couch and covers her eyes.

 

Henry– Henry who’d been a kid alone in the world just like her, but who’d been given to the best mother he could ever have– Henry doesn’t understand. Henry doesn’t know rejection. Henry hasn’t spent his whole childhood being inserted into families and being thrown out just as quickly. 

 

Emma knows rejection, knows reluctance to commit that eventually transforms into apologetic dismissal. Emma is long past childhood and any hope for a new family that’s hers. Emma had waited every day for the one when this would _end_ , when she wouldn’t be enough anymore and Regina would send her away. Emma had yearned and yearned and every day where the relationship hadn’t existed to the world around them had been another reminder that she’d always be nobody.

 

And she’s tired of running from this as though she deserves any more than it. She’ll take what she can get. She’ll remain a dirty little secret at the corners of Regina’s life until the time comes that–

 

Regina appears in the doorway of the living room and Emma jumps. “Hi,” she says, testing her voice for wetness. She doesn’t hear it, and Regina doesn’t react if she’s noticed it. “I thought you were asleep.”

 

“I woke up,” Regina says.

 

Emma’s stomach plummets. _I woke up_. From Henry running upstairs, or before? From Emma leaving bed? From…  _No. No, no, no._

She turns to stare at Regina with renewed fear, to find what had been said in her eyes; but they’re opaque, guarded from intrusions and from Emma most of all.

 

* * *

 

**in which we reach a grand finale.**

 

Emma doesn’t leave.

 

It should be a point in her favor but it just feels empty and cowardly. She doesn’t leave because she can’t bear being on the outside again, without Regina when she needs her so desperately. She doesn’t leave because Henry says Regina _cried herself to sleep for weeks_ and she can’t bear hurting Regina anymore. She doesn’t leave because no one shoves her out the door and tells her they’re done with her.

 

She half expects the latter early on, is on her best behavior and desperate to please Regina and Henry. She’s a model houseguest, sneaking out of bed early to have breakfast waiting for them and doing the laundry and dishes and keeping quiet instead of responding to any barbs sent her way.

 

A week and a half into her stay, she runs out of chores and tries dusting an old bookcase in the guest room. Regina catches her hand and says, looking sick about the whole thing, “Stop. Please.” 

 

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Emma says weakly.

 

She breaks a plate that night while washing dishes. Hastily, she picks up the pieces but they slip out of her soapy hands and she’s just so tired of all of this– of hurting people, of feeling like she’ll never be enough– and she leaves it on the floor and sits down at the kitchen table, burying her face in her hands and surrendering to exhaustion.

 

There are hands on hers a moment later, a cry of concern and then a demand– _Henry, get the first aid kit_ – and then Regina with her arms around Emma, with her head against Emma’s shoulder and her words strained. “Emma, please stop punishing yourself.”

 

“I hurt you,” Emma whispers, noticing the blood that’s run down her hand from a cut she hadn’t seen.

 

“I’m not going to send you away,” Regina says in response. It’s the closest to an admission that she’d heard Emma’s outburst at Henry, and Emma begins to shake her head and deny it– “I’m sorry I can’t be what you need,” Regina cuts in, her eyes downcast, and _yes_ , yes she had.

 

“You’re everything I’ve ever needed,” Emma says, and means every word. If their secret world has been a prison, it’s a safe haven as well, the only place in the world Emma wants to be anymore.

 

And that’s enough.

 

Happily Ever After is nearly over. The final episode is airing in a few weeks, and there’s a formal finale scheduled for the Thursday before. Regina picks out their outfits, coordinates them as she always does, and they’re made up together for the last time.

 

“My necklace,” Emma remembers as they’re about to leave. She’d left it on the bathroom counter, and Regina heads upstairs to retrieve it while Emma does one last hair check.

 

But when Regina emerges, it’s around her neck, the swan at the midpoint between her neck and the top of her dress. “You’re going to make the fans lose their minds,” Emma says, shaking her head.

 

“That ought to keep Twitter fun for a few days,” Regina says, and she takes Emma’s arm as they duck into the car. Henry makes faces at them both, and Emma kisses his cheek and feels her heart swell at his grudging smile.

 

It’s not perfect. She’d thrown perfect away when she’d demanded too much of it. But it’s real and they’re all smiling and Regina’s hand is clasped in hers before they step out of the car and it’s enough.

 

This is going to be their last red carpet as a duo, Emma decides right then. No more making appearances at each other’s events as _friends_ unless they go separately. No more rumors or places where they have to lie about their relationship. If they choose to remain private, so be it; but no more hiding and lying.

 

Emma answers questions with Jamaal on one side of her, Regina on the other. “It’s an amazing story for all of them, I think, but for Rose and Victoria in particular. They’ve been on this journey from the start where they were isolated– and then they found Jamie, and then they found hope and love and family and this is the showcase of those journeys.” 

 

“And how about you?” the reporter persists. “Seven years ago, you were playing a clown at birthday parties and now you’re…” He gestures at Emma. “You’ve become an accomplished, award-winning actress. Would you say that you’ve also been on a journey?”

 

Emma nods vigorously. “Definitely. I’ve definitely… The past six years have changed my life so much.”

 

“You said Rose found hope, love, and family. Is that kind of fairytale one you’ve also experienced?” And they’re back to intrusive about Emma’s relationships.

 

 _Never again_ , Emma vows for the second time that night, eyes flickering first to Jamaal’s face as he stops answering questions to watch her, and then to Regina. Regina’s also stopped responding, but her lips are tight and she’s watching both of them: Jamaal and Emma, both frozen by the reporter’s question. “I hope so,” Emma says vaguely. “I think that…in terms of a _fairytale_ …I’ve found a family with the cast that I love very much.” She puts a quick arm around Jamaal and slips away, answering only a few questions before she makes it inside.

 

A quick check of Twitter proves that the fans have honed in on the most important detail about the night. _She isn’t wearing the necklace! So that means– it has to be the same one–_

_No way, a fan must have gotten them each one._

_They always coordinate for these events– maybe she loaned it to Regina for the night??_

_Can’t you all appreciate a female friendship without making it all about romance?_ pronounces the final tweet she sees, and she clicks off her phone and heads into the theater.

 

Henry is watching the live feed from outside in the theater, and she sinks down next to him. “So many reporters,” she groans, poking him. “You dodged a bullet by skipping out on your family business.”

 

Henry says, “Ours. Our family business,” and Emma knows that he’s seen the interview on the red carpet. “You’re my family.” He looks unhappy, his eyes on the screen as Regina attempts her own escape, and Emma wraps an arm around his shoulders.

 

Onscreen, Regina is trying to get past one of the most persistent reporters. “Will the return of fan favorite Killian Jones this finale throw a wrench into Victory Rose?” the woman says, a microphone stuck into Regina’s face.

 

Regina pushes it away, none too gently. “No,” she says. “And if you don’t mind, I’d really like to get inside to my girlfriend.”

 

Emma blinks at the screen. The reporter nods enthusiastically. “Yes, we all love Rose and Victoria, and your friendship with–“

 

“No, you misunderstand,” Regina says. Her tone is harried but her words are precise, each one measured out so that there’s no space for ambiguity. “My girlfriend, Emma. The woman I love. I’d like to catch up with her.”

 

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Henry says, looking awed. Emma is still staring, openmouthed, and she doesn’t move until Henry gives her a shove. “Go back outside,” he orders.

 

She walks slowly, still stunned, hearing the ripple of murmurs as more and more attention is turned to Regina’s statements. Mary Margaret catches her hand as she steps back outside, guiding her toward Regina. “I can’t believe she did that,” Mary Margaret whispers, and Emma can’t quite remember how to speak to respond.

 

Regina is still being held captive by an equally awestruck reporter. “So…would you say that Emma is your one exception?” the reporter wants to know.

 

“No,” Regina says, irritable. “This is me doing that ridiculous coming out thing. Congratulations on catching it.” She darts a glance at the other end of the carpet, where Cora and Leopold are still interviewing obliviously. “Mother’s going to kill me,” she says as though it’s just hit her, and the reporter laughs.

 

She turns back just as Emma reaches her. “Hi,” Emma says, breathless. She still hasn’t processed any of it, anything but Regina standing surrounded by reporters, a beacon of light in the dark. “Regina–“

 

“I love you,” Regina murmurs. “I didn’t mean for it to be this demonstrative. I just…” She leans forward, pressing her forehead to Emma’s, and a dozen flashbulbs go off at once. “I was so tired of not being your fairytale.”

 

“You are,” Emma whispers, kissing her chastely and ignoring the media clamoring for their attention. “You’ve always been…” For once, they’re without words but it’s all been said. It’s all right there in every kiss. “We should go somewhere a little more private,” she says finally, laughing against Regina’s lips.

 

“Come on, Moms,” Henry says, taking Emma’s arm. Jamaal takes Regina’s, his eyes shining down at her, and Regina gulps out a little sob. “Let’s go inside.”

 

And they retreat into the building as cameras flash behind them and social media goes wild.

 

* * *

 

**in which one of our stories comes to an end.**

_It’s the last stand and they’re losing. Frollo seems to have an entire army, each wave stronger than the last, and even Rumplestiltskin’s final sacrifice has only held them off for a few minutes. Red fires her bow from the trees, Mulan and Charming swing their swords in tandem, and Granny’s crossbow slows the enemy but never stops them._

_There’s nothing left to protect in the town– nothing remaining but the author’s mansion, destroyed by Frollo’s men, and a well that hasn’t had magic run through it in six months. But the well is all they have, and so they fight._

_“Whatever happens, Jamie is safe,” Victoria says, back-to-back with Rose as they swing swords imbued with the last of Atlantis’s magic. It’s not enough. It’s not going to be enough for any of them, least of all Frollo’s two greatest targets. “That’s all that matters. Esmeralda will protect him.”_

_“No,” Rose says fiercely. “No, Victoria, I won’t give up now. We’re going to protect this well even if it takes the rest of our lives to bring back the fairytales.”_

_“Happy endings aren’t always what we think they’ll be,” Snow says from where she’s perched on the edge of the well, echoing words that she’s said before. But today it’s without her fierce faith in the future, resignation in place of hope. “Maybe it’s time that we found another one.”_

_“You gave me hope,” Rose says to her. And to Victoria, “You gave me courage. Let me give them back to you now.” She surges forward into the mob of Frollo’s men and Victoria shouts her name and throws out her hands–_

_Magic erupts from her palms in deep purples and whites, shooting out to repel Frollo’s army. Rose reels in shock, raising her own hands and twisting around to watch her, and Victoria hurtles after her into the fray._

_The scene cuts to Jamie, writing furiously in his book. Behind him, Esmeralda closes her eyes and breathes out, smiling as bursts of magic erupt in a multicolored frenzy around her. “You did it,” she says._

_Around the town, magic whirls and condenses into a dome protecting it, and doors begin to appear like the ones that had been there before: first in the Mad Hatter’s hat; then in the world in-between where Snow and Victoria had released Frollo’s magic bean. Each door is a promise, a portal to another land, and they stand tall and stable around the borders of the town._

_And after that, the battle is theirs. Frollo’s army disperses and runs, and it’s Rose who stands over Frollo alone at the end. “You thought you could take away everything I love?” she demands. “You thought you could hurt my family and pass it off as doing us a favor?” She glares down at him, daring him to make excuses now._

_He takes off, fleeing toward the well. “I can still destroy it all,” he snarls. “I can–“ A single root takes hold of his leg and he’s thrown into the well inside, falling and falling as he screams._

_Rose says, “Victoria?”_

_“No,” Esmeralda says._

_She emerges from a watery door behind them, Jamie at her heels with his book clutched tightly to him. “What did you do?” his mothers ask wonderingly, and he holds his book out to them and buries himself in a group hug. “Which story did you write to bring back magic?”_

_“Ours,” he says, opening the book to the middle. It’s an image they know well, Jamie’s arms around Victoria while Rose stands awkwardly behind them. It’s the first night Rose had been to town, the night the clock had started ticking and the curse had reached its climax. “I wrote our story.”_

_Later, the family is gathered in Victoria’s mansion, celebrating their victory and flipping through Jamie’s book. Snow and Charming are cozy on the couch and Red and Belle have Bae on their laps, listening to Jamie’s descriptions of Atlantis. Mulan is sitting a bit apart from the family, but her eyes keep flickering to Esmeralda, who’s standing with Rose and Victoria._

_Rose murmurs something into Victoria’s ear and Victoria says, “Esmeralda. Have you ever met our deputy sheriff?” Esmeralda looks intrigued as Victoria leads her to a flustered Mulan, and Rose grins and slips away into the kitchen._

_She opens Jamie’s book again, looking through the photos of the adventures they’ve had, and hands encircle her waist. “We have quite the son,” Victoria murmurs into her ear._

_“We have quite the story,” Rose echoes, turning in Victoria’s embrace to press a kiss to her lips._

_They speak in low tones, a brief conversation of what the portals in town mean for them– “I think it’s time we took a vacation,” Victoria says, eyes warm. “Just the three of us, your choice of realm.”_

_“Is Tahiti a realm?” Rose says, laughing, and they return to the living room hand-in-hand. Rose settles down next to her mother and Victoria sits beside her, exchanging a smile with Snow._

_Unnoticed by anyone around him, Jamie slips into the kitchen, retrieving the book and turning to the very last page. He takes out the pen and writes one last line in it, watching his family from the next room._

**_And they lived happily ever after._ **

****

And the credits roll.


	21. epilogue

**in which a closet is again our focus (as is happily ever after).**

 

Anamika still sucks her thumb.

 

It’s the first thing Emma had noticed about her, before her narrow frame and her defensive stance and the eyes that scream defiance that had won Regina over so quickly. ( _She looks like you_ , Regina had murmured, which had been an absurd statement until Mika had turned her glower toward Emma.) Henry had noticed that she’d barely spoken during their early visits, even to the social worker, though even a few shy words had been more than her norm. Emma knows it all, but it’s the thumb-sucking she hones in on. It’s not uncommon in group homes, and there’s a sense of deja vu to it.

 

Which is, she supposes, to be expected. 

 

Mika is sitting silently on her new bed, sucking her thumb with her legs swinging over the side, and Henry bangs his head on a shelf in the closet and says, “Ma, you left a box in here.” 

 

“What?” Emma huddles down beside him, nudging him out of the way. “I thought everything in here was the crap you brought home from college.” 

 

“This one’s yours,” Henry says, backing out of the way, and Emma sees the box and realizes. 

 

They’d moved back to the West Coast only a few months ago, and she hadn’t thought about that particular box since. It had been tucked into the closet in the master bedroom in Storybrooke, behind a row of perfectly tailored pantsuits, and she only takes it out on rare occasions. ( _Not sentimental,_ Regina had said once, taking great pleasure in mocking her. _Right._ Emma had thrown a pillow at her head.) 

 

“What’s in it?” The voice is still unfamiliar, and Emma turns around. Mika watches her, thumb back in her mouth, but the defiance in her eyes has shifted to curiosity. 

 

“It’s…a few old things I’ve saved from the past ten years or so.” Emma tugs out the first item, a crumpled script smoothed out and flattened after years of being packed away. “This is the script from the hundredth episode of Happily Ever After.” 

 

“Rose,” Mika says, and Emma nods, startled.

 

“I didn’t know you’d seen the show.” It’s been five years since it had ended. Anamika would have been three at the oldest for the final season.

 

The girl shrugs, solemn. “A little. One of my foster dads put it on a lot when he was out. Then he saw the moms kissing and he made us stop.” 

 

“We’ll have to mend that,” Regina says briskly, walking into the room. Mika’s eyes follow Regina as she sits beside her. She talks even less around her than she does Emma, but she leans against Regina without flinching and watches her all the time with a muted sort of awe. 

 

Only Henry has managed to get through to Mika on both counts, and he settles comfortably beside her still-swinging legs to watch Emma unpack the box.

 

Emma pulls out the next item, grinning at it. “This is a mug Regina got me.”

 

Henry snorts. “I haven’t seen that in months. I thought you broke it.” The mug is personalized, illustrated with a screencap of a tweet.

 

Three days after Emma and Regina had kissed on the red carpet, they’d been _everywhere_. There had been photos and articles and a dozen interviews where they’d been tersely instructed by Cora to promote the show finale first. (Cora had spoken only to Emma and Henry for weeks after, during which Gold had taken advantage of the rift between Millses to make Regina an offer.) And there had been Twitter, true to form, where they’d been celebrated and decried.

 

They’d gotten their share of congratulations and _I knew it!_ before the usuals had arrived. There had been a dozen more shouted rumors about Regina breaking Emma and Killian up, about Regina forcing the relationship, about it all being a publicity stunt because Victory Rose had been a failure. Emma had endured it for days before she’d remembered that she’s _done_ and she can say whatever she wants to to the fans.

 

And so @emmaswan14 tweets,  _For the record, anyone who harasses my family over a SHIP gets an automatic BLOCK. My personal life is not yours to dictate. #fuckoff_. It had cost her another terse reminder from Cora that her image is family-friendly, but she hadn’t deleted the tweet and had felt pretty smug about the whole matter.

 

Regina hadn’t acknowledged the tweet at all, and Emma had thought at first that she hadn’t seen it because she’d been so bogged down with the battle with Cora. But one morning, the personalized mug had been on the table with the _#fuckoff_ carefully edited to _#f***off_ and Regina had poured her coffee and kissed her temple. “Morning, darling,” she’d said, studiously casual, and Emma had grinned lazily and basked.

 

They don’t say _I love you_ all that often in the usual ways, but somehow it always manages to emerge regardless.

 

Now, Anamika says, “F-star-star-star-O-F-F?” and Emma gulps. Henry snickers.

 

Regina strokes Mika’s cheek. “Why don’t you show Mika the book you keep in there?” Mika falls silent again, a hand in Regina’s, and Emma drapes her own legs over Henry and sits on her other side. 

 

Mika shifts, uncomfortable, and Emma is careful to move slightly to the side and give her an easy exit from the circle of family. She kicks at Henry’s back until he budges and she opens _The Art of Victory Rose._ “See? Here’s Rose and Victoria at a fair with Jamie,” she says, pointing to one of the pictures. “Here they’re all eating ice cream.” 

 

“I like Jamie,” Mika says, touching his face.

 

Henry perks up. “You want to meet him sometime?” Mika bobs her head, still gazing at the art. “We room together at Berkeley when he isn’t filming. I can make that happen.”

 

“Okay.” Mika is more comfortable with Henry than with the two of them, thus far, and Emma shifts over when Henry settles in beside her to show her some of the pictures in the book.

 

Regina pulls her from the book, tugging her back to the closet. “Anything new in your box? Maybe some mildew to commemorate our move? A half-empty bottle of wine from _One Night Stand_?”

 

Emma pouts. “Are you mocking me?” 

 

“It’s called teasing when we’re in love, Swan,” Regina retorts, plucking a paper from the box. “What’s this, a letter to Henry–“ She pauses halfway through the first line. “Ah.” 

 

“Not Henry,” Emma says, retrieving the letter and folding it again. Her cheeks are flushed and this is…overly sentimental, even for her. 

 

She’d written the letter on his eighteenth birthday, added it to one of the sites where she’d been registered as a birth mother and waited, waited, waited. He’d never contacted her, but she’d thought…she’d wanted him to know, at least, that he could have her if he’d wanted. 

 

Regina curls up beside her, her head against Emma’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asks, and Emma slides an arm around her waist and holds her closer. 

 

She has her family. She’d very nearly _not_ had her family after Regina had come out, after Henry’s birth mother’s sister had caused a stir trying to regain custody of him ( _They’re going to turn him gay with their perverted, immoral lifestyle,_ she’d insisted, and she’d been popular enough on the Bible Belt that too many had sided with her), and there had been lawsuits and smear campaigns and the three of them on their own. 

 

Henry had been the one to save them in the end, arriving on Cora’s doorstep and begging her for the help that his mothers had been too proud to seek. It had been the only effective way to end the months of hostility between Regina and Cora– painting Cora as the hero, leaving them forever in her debt, and Cora had taken it without hesitation.

 

It had been too late to salvage the Mills business partnership, though, to Regina’s relief and Cora’s dismay. And _that_ had panned out quite nicely for them all.

 

Henry is still showing Anamika the book, but her eyes are on them again, boring into Emma’s back until Emma turns to smile at her. Mika turns away swiftly, pigtails bouncing against dark brown cheeks with the movement, and sticks her thumb back into her mouth.

 

Emma moves the box over into Mika’s line of sight. Regina’s already reaching into the box, her thumb running over the material of the tie that Emma had worn to SDCC before Season Six. “My favorite,” Regina murmurs, tying it back around Emma’s neck. The kiss is chaste with their son and foster daughter ( _foster daughter_ , Emma’s mind repeats, savoring the words as they flicker through her mind for the first time) in the room, but Regina’s hand curled around the tie and her knuckles brushing against Emma’s collarbone are a promise, unspoken.

 

“Let’s not forget the last time we competed for top dick-ery– for top…meanie prize,” Emma amends, and Mika presses her lips against her thumb like she’s trying not to laugh. They part in surprise when Emma plucks out a fifty-dollar bill from the box.

 

“I can’t believe you _saved_ that,” Regina grumbles.

 

“You loved it.” They’d arrived to the Paleyfest ten-year reunion of the premiere separately. For the first time since Cora had cut them off, Emma had gotten a role beyond failed pilots and unsuccessful independent films, and she’d been shooting _One Night Stand_ ’s first season in Storybrooke while Regina had been mid-production of her pilot in LA. They’d sat side by side on the stage while Killian had made lewd jokes and Lacey had kicked him in the boot and they hadn’t made eye contact once.

 

The moderator had brought up the show’s two real-life love stories, and Mary Margaret had gone on and on about her three children and the charity she runs while Emma had shifted awkwardly in her seat.

 

"Regina and I have actually been separated for a bit–“ she’d begun, straightening in her chair, and murmurs of confusion and anger had rippled through the audience. Emma had hung her head.

 

Regina had said, rolling her eyes, “Yes, we’ve been separated…by the middle of the continent. I’ve been working on producing a new show on the West Coast and Emma’s been filming in Storybrooke. It’s been three weeks and Emma’s a troll.” Emma had beamed. Regina had tugged her back against her seat, flicking a finger against her temple. “You have no idea what I put up with,” she’d confided in the audience. 

 

“This from the woman who bet me fifty bucks that I couldn’t pull off our ‘separation’ with a straight face,” Emma had retorted. “I’ve been in character all day. Pay up.” 

 

Regina had handed her a bill, still smug. “I’m going to get at least a dozen nasty tweets about this after the panel,” she’d said, smirking for the audience. There’d been a loud hoot from somewhere near the stage.

 

It had been a good reunion. Regina still makes sure to do at least one convention a season and Emma tends to sign up when the con can afford them both, and their prior cons had…had their moments.

 

There’d been the early one after the finale where New Guy had been a featured guest and hadn’t caught the gossip about Emma and Regina beforehand. He’d groped Regina’s ass in the group photos and Emma had– very politely– stabbed him in the leg with her heel. (“How do you accidentally stab someone?” Regina had demanded, exasperation not enough to hide the amusement in her eyes. “You drew blood, Emma! Blood!”) New Guy had limped around for the rest of the con and Emma had gotten a few dirty looks and a few high-fives. One of them had been from Henry.

 

There’d been the terrible one where she'd been cornered at a meet-and-greet by an overly aggressive fan who’d bought the ticket just to tell Emma that she was going to hell for corrupting Regina with her homosexuality. Emma had nodded for security but that one had nearly ended in violence between fans, and Emma had skipped that con the next year.

 

There are good memories, too, like standing up in front of an audience who loves her at last and talking about her first experience reading fanfiction. “It was harrowing,” she’d admitted, covering her face. “I swear, I wanted to burn my computer after stumbling onto that.” 

 

“What was so terrible about it?” Jamaal had wanted to know, and Emma had shaken her head vigorously.

 

“Nothing you need to know!” she'd nearly shouted, and the audience had snickered.

 

The fandom has mellowed toward her as the years have passed and she’d gotten used to speaking her mind again. She’s always careful to be positive about the show and its creators, but she’s nothing less than fiercely protective of Victory Rose and her costars. “It’s yours,” she’d said at the Paleyfest reunion. “That’s…um…that’s always been the most amazing part of it for me. You took the narrative we’d given you and you wrote us a love story before we had ever gotten there. Victory Rose belongs to you all, first and foremost, no matter what we did with it after.”

 

The words are still echoing in her mind as she sets the fifty-dollar bill aside. Anamika is still staring at it as though she’s never seen that kind of money in her life. Emma hadn’t, at her age or for a long time after. She tosses Mika an encouraging smile and the girl ducks her head and slides closer to Henry.

 

“I remember this photoshoot,” Regina says, smoothing down the next photo she plucks from the box. They’re standing toe-to-toe, glaring at each other and much too close to be rivals. “They didn’t use this one, did they.” Emma knows the look on Regina’s face now, the sneer and the burning eyes that mean she’s about to launch herself at Emma and make her scream– in less than hateful ways, of course. 

 

“It was a nice batch,” Emma offers, sly. “I had to save one.” 

 

“So sentimental even about us hating each other,” Regina sighs, linking her ankle with Emma’s on the floor. She reaches for the other photo in the box. “What’s this, a production still of you punching me in the face?” 

 

It isn’t. It’s Regina during the pilot filming for her new show, the one they’d officially moved back to LA so she could supervise. “It’s a delicate story,” she’d said, fidgeting as she’d brought it up. “I know you’re still filming in Storybrooke and it isn’t fair to expect you to–“

 

“Yes.” 

 

Regina had been dumbfounded. “You… _yes_?”

 

“Yes,” Emma had repeated. “You’re doing important work here and I know you’ll be impossible about it being perfect in the best ways.” Her filming schedule is much lighter for _One Night Stand,_ a comedy about a woman who discovers one day that her prior one-night stand is the woman about to get engaged to her best friend. It’s an easy workload without many sets or CGI to juggle, and she’ll happily fly back and forth a few times a month to support Regina’s show. “I’m proud to be a part of it.” 

 

In the photo, Regina is crouched beside one of the cameras, watching Jamaal gesturing to their teenaged lead actress. She looks driven, invigorated by the work, and she’s glowing like she hasn’t since they’d fought for Victory Rose and won.

 

Emma had been there when they’d announced the show at SDCC this past summer, at a panel titled  _True Love’s Kiss: LGBTQ Stories in Fantasy_ that had featured both of them with several other actors and writers. There had been buzz about an announcement at the panel and the room had been packed with curious fans and the huge crowd of Victory Rose shippers who still follow them everywhere. 

 

Regina had paused near the end of the panel, nodding at the last question asked by the moderator. “And where do you see the future of stories like these going?” 

 

“Funny you should ask that,” Regina had said to the laughter of an audience anticipating it. “I think that– I think that as long as we’re writing queer fairytales about adults, we continue to normalize the idea that this is an _adult_ topic. And too often it’s reduced to a ‘Very Special Story’ and not a natural part of this world. Which is why Mr. Gold and I have been working with Disney and ABC Family to develop a new project– a spinoff of Happily Ever After where a teenaged princess will come of age and learn magic and fight dragons and find that she, too, is looking for a princess of her own.” 

 

There had been resounding applause and Emma had breathed a sigh of relief. _It won’t work,_ Cora had insisted, listing demos and production issues and stabbing insults Regina’s way. But it does. The pilot has been picked up and the first few episodes have aired now to critical acclaim, and Cora’s fury stems from her capacity as advisory-only.

 

This is Regina’s project, and Regina had been adamant from the start that it wouldn’t be Happily Ever After redux in its early seasons. “I want this to be the new normal,” she’d said at the SDCC announcement. “To see girls of color– to see queer children– to see them all represented onscreen in every genre. You wrote Victory Rose first,” she’d echoed Emma’s pronouncement from Paleyfest. “And I can’t wait to see what those children write as they grow up.” 

 

Emma had slipped the photo from filming into her box as she’d packed it up for the move, and Regina gazes at it now with surprise. “This earns a place in your box?” 

 

“I’m not just your adoring partner,” Emma says, holding it by the edges as she sets it down on top of the script from the hundredth. “I’m also your biggest fan, remember?” 

 

Regina’s eyes are warm, her fingers tracing patterns into Emma’s leg. “It’s very mutual,” she murmurs, kissing Emma’s cheek. “Is that the end of the box beyond that monstrosity at the bottom of it?” 

 

“Well. Just one more thing.” Anamika is watching them intently, and Emma flushes and retrieves the little black box from it.

 

There’s a moment of hesitation– an instant when they’re all frozen in place, awaiting, Regina’s reaction, and then Regina gasps mockingly. “Emma! Are you proposing now, on Anamika's day?”

 

“Shut up,” Emma mutters, but it’s taken Regina some time to get to the place where she can joke about the ring, so…progress.

 

Emma had agonized over it for weeks last year, talked it through with Marian and Henry and brought them both with her to pick it out for Regina’s birthday. She’d been determined to find something perfect for the ring, something that would be _right_ for them both, something that would solidify their relationship even more. 

 

Instead, she’d taken Regina back into Storybrooke for her birthday, gotten down on one knee in front of the mansion that had been Mayor Stone’s, and Regina had turned on her heel and fled.

 

Regina had slept on Marian’s couch that night and Emma had stewed alone in the dark, old abandonment issues returning to play. She’d gotten an emoji from Regina, the koi-on-a-flagpole that has come to be their _everything’s going to be okay_. But Regina had run, unwilling to accept the ring, and it had been difficult not to take it as a rejection.

 

“It’s not a rejection,” Regina had said when she’d finally returned, her eyes still flickering to the box on the nightstand. “I can’t get married. I _can’t_.” There’d been a stumbling explanation of Daniel and the impossibility of marriage there, and then another of Cora’s arranged almost-wedding between Regina and Leopold. Marriage is terrifying for Regina, is something that had been so twisted for her that she still has hangups, and Emma had tucked away the ring box and hadn’t had the heart to return it.

 

_(I love you_ , Regina had whispered into her skin like a prayer. _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ each confession a plea for nothing to change. Emma had held her close and put aside a dream that had suddenly become a step too far. She’d cried when she’d thought Regina had fallen asleep and soft hands had brushed them away and whispered renewed devotion into her ear.)

 

“It’s a beautiful ring,” Regina says, opening the box and examining it for the first time. Emma stiffens. On the bed, Henry sucks in a breath. Regina’s finger runs over the delicate twist of the band. “Marian said you chose it.” 

 

“She was there to make sure I didn’t wind up with something horrible, but this felt…” Emma shifts, awkward and uncertain as she’d been after the flubbed proposal. “It doesn’t matter.” 

 

“May I?” Regina says, and Emma nods with trepidation as Regina lifts the ring from the box. She undoes her necklace and removes the pendant that had been on the chain, sliding the engagement ring into its place. “It just…it seems like a waste to keep it in that box, gathering dust,” she murmurs, but her eyes peek out from under her lashes with a vulnerability that twists Emma’s heart. “I do love it very much.” 

 

Emma nods hesitantly, and Regina turns so Emma can clasp the necklace again. On the bed, Anamika and Henry are both watching with wide eyes.

 

“You know,” Emma says, addressing Mika. “That isn’t even the best thing in the box. There’s still one last surprise in it. Want to see?” Mika nods solemnly.

 

Emma puts everything back into the box, marching out of the room, and Henry says, “You’re going to like this. She hasn’t done this since I turned eleven.” 

 

Regina’s rich laugh follows Emma from the room as she dresses quickly, adjusting her outfit and picking out her props; and when she bursts back into the room Anamika screams.

 

No, _squeals_ , a burst of laughter escaping from her throat for the first time since they’d met her, and Emma winks and straightens out her clown costume before she starts juggling plastic fruit. Anamika is still laughing, eyes bright and shining, and Emma thinks back eleven years to when this all had begun.

 

She’d been standing in a clown outfit at a birthday party, doing impressions for the birthday boy (Milah’s nephew, she knows now. He’d managed to make his way onto Killian’s ultra-popular stint on _The Real Housewives of Storybrooke_ and is dating some tween-friendly singer now). Gold had been in the corner, watching her so intently that she’d thought he’d been a potential stalker until he’d handed her his card.

 

And she’d thought it would be a weird encounter, back then. A story to tell girls in bars about the time she’d almost been discovered. She’d watch that weird fairytale show and think, _hey, that could have been me_ and never thought once about those two mothers falling in love onscreen and off it. 

 

She hadn’t imagined this: a boy who calls her _Ma_ egging her on as he watches her perform; a little lost girl with eyes like hers and a blinding smile; and a woman she loves watching her every movement as her fingers twist around the ring hanging from her neck.

 

She hadn’t imagined _home_ , trickling into her life as gradually as it had Rose Turner’s, and now she can’t imagine anything else. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I get sappy! As I've said before, I wasn't going to write this story. This past summer, this story was a collection of screencapped headcanons on Google Drive and I'm still a bit in shock that I actually _did_ turn it into a story somehow. But I'm glad I did and I'm awed and astounded by and so, so grateful about its reception by SWEN.
> 
> If other stories I've written have been my love letters to Swan Queen, to Emma and Regina– this story is my love letter to the Swan Queen Nation. We've made our own home within the community, written our own stories and transformed the narrative that we've been given into something that will outlast OUAT, and I'm so proud to be a part of y'all– with your hearts of the truest believers and your most resilient hearts and your hearts that are all about the truest of love.
> 
> It's been an honor to get to write SWEN one happy ending, even if it's just this one little fic on AO3. And thank you so much for letting me give it to you. 


End file.
